To Move Forward
by Rainxoxo
Summary: What is known about time? It is the past, present, and future and yet it is more. Time is ever flowing, continuous in its infinite pace. It is something that is desired by everyone. And in this one instance, Eragon is given more time not as a second chance at life but as a chance to move forward. However, to move forward oftentimes one must start at the beginning.
1. Chapter 1

**And so this is the first chapter of my spin off of Reversed Life. I know I said I was going to upload it within the next week but I didn't want you all to have to wait that long to see the new project that I'm working on. This chapter is the prologue of the story and it branches from the original plot of Reversed Life. In the beginning moment Eragon is supposed to have killed Galbatorix like how I wrote it in Reversed Life, however here it is different and you shall all see very soon. To those of you who do not know Reversed Life, basically it is a rewrite of the end of Eragon to the end of Inheritance in which Murtagh and Eragon switched roles. You don't necessarily have to read RL to read this story but a background history is always nice. (Standard Disclaimer: Inheritance=CP). Anyways, R&R. **

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The voice was soft and as she spoke, his entire body flashed with recognition. _Your world…fight for it._

It was as if someone had launched him from a catapult for he felt himself propel through the air towards Galbatorix, faster than he could manage himself with Saphira's help or with magic. He saw a flash of shock in Galbatorix's eyes but did not dwell on it. Flourishing his sword over his head, he took in a deep breath before a shout left him, "_Brisingr!"_

A sizzle ran through his sword and the sapphire blade erupted into flames, bright and powerful. As he neared Galbatorix, he pushed out with his mind and with the help of the others within him closed it about the king, separating him from his Eldunarí as he allowed their thoughts to connect. _Understand Galbatorix all the pain that you have caused, _thought Eragon as he let the memories of the dead wash over the king, the man immobilized by the in pour of thoughts and emotions.

He was the reason for the century of anguish and sorrow.

Eragon could never comprehend what was loss over the hundred years since Galbatorix came into power. Though there were physical losses such as Vroengard and those who fought against Galbatorix, there was also a change in the people, in the way of life, in the land itself. He had deprived others of happiness, had horded everything to himself and called himself a king. _A king exists for his people not for himself. _And Eragon had been ignorant of it until he met Arya, until he left the Empire, until he joined the Varden. He did not understand the sorrows of other people but he did within the short time outside of the Empire, he grew to understand.

He understood sadness and the struggle against it. He saw it in everyone and felt as if he was being crushed by all their hopes. Those who couldn't fight for themselves asked others that could to fight for them. And he would fight for them. He would fight for them and all those who could not fight and those who did but were cut down. It was in this moment, when the dead and the living had joined that he realized just how deeply emotions could stem. Feelings such as love conquered death. They lived on after death and this was proof. He felt their emotions pour through him and into Galbatorix preventing him for speaking coherently as he cried out with the pain of a hundred years of memories, pain, and loss.

With a yell, he stabbed Brisingr upwards watching as the blazing blade sunk through Galbatorix's armor over his heart until the hilt met the metal of his armor. A cry of agony was torn from Galbatorix and he let out a yell in the ancient language composing a line that Eragon could not hear but there was a bright white light that erupted with his scream enveloping the both of them and then the sky no longer existed and it was just Eragon facing a pained Galbatorix who was fighting the emotions of the memories. Their eyes met and in the king's eyes he saw defeat and the anger of defeat.

And then it was gone in a bright flash and when his mind failed him, he thought of Arya and Murtagh and hoped that they had managed to kill Shruikan and finally end the battle that a century's worth of effort had built up towards. As he continued to fall, he heard the voices in his head speaking to him. His dull mind registered their thoughts of gratitude and then he heard their heartfelt thanks for he had freed them from their past and had freed Alagaësia and its people from sorrow.

_It was the beginning._

The world about him faded out into nothing and his reality fell to pieces and in its place was a white world—entirely devoid of anything else but him. He was falling once more and now there would be no one to catch him if he did. Trying to keep his eyes open, he blinked against the intensity of it and nearly felt as if his entire body was being ripped apart. It was as if someone was cutting him to pieces, transposing him through the worlds before piecing him back together. Was this Galbatorix's doing? The icy claws of reality gripped and pulled at him but he refused to give in. Whatever it was, he did not want to lose his hold on the world. He was not going to relinquish it.

The agonizing pain ended moments later leaving him dazed and breathless but there was an odd sensation to his being as if he was there but he didn't truly exist. He could feel a cold ground beneath his body but it didn't feel as if it was solid. Blinking, where he laid he found himself lying on the concrete ground of Urû'baen. Had he done it?

Groaning at the ferocious pounding in his head, Eragon glanced about frowning at the sudden gloom that seemed to have overcome the city. What was going on? Despite it being morning, the sun did not appear radiant and the sky looked more gray than blue. He turned his head taking in the sight of the cheering soldiers and the relief that poured through the Varden and its allies. Watching them lift up their blades and shields with triumphant shouts made him want to do the same but there was something that prevented him from doing so. He did not know what but for some reason, he did not feel like celebrating.

_Something was wrong. _

"Arya?" Eragon called to his surroundings noticing for the first time that the dragons were not in the air. Turning his head in search of his mate, his anxiety grew when he could not spot her. "Arya, where are you?" There was no reply to his shout and the soldiers about him did not seem to give notice to his presence. They were too elated with their victory to give notice to him and he did not blame them. When everything was said and done, he was going to celebrate as well. Perhaps Saphira might know where Arya is. He was about to reach out to her when a mournful keen erupted near the center of the city.

He could place the sound anywhere. It was Saphira who was lamenting and in her voice he heard a deep anguish and a cry for something lost. His body lurched forward before his mind could and Eragon found himself tearing through the streets of the city towards the lamentation of his dragon and soon she was joined by Thorn and Eridor. They were mourning someone close to their heart. But who? Who had died? Instantly fear gripped his heart as he thought of Arya. No, his mate wasn't dead. He refused to accept it.

"Arya!" tearing through the streets with unnatural speed, he easily navigated his way between the buildings and alleyways that led to the center. No one paid him mind for they were all intently focused on the song that was being sung by the dragons. It was a song that was filled with sorrow, grief, and unrestrained anger. It was a song that touched his heart and made his anxiety all the more real. Trying to push down his fear, he hurried forward ignoring the pounding ache in his head and the ache in his limbs.

Turning a corner, he leapt over a fallen body of an Urgal and continued down the alleyway, emerging from the cramped space and into the courtyard where he spotted the three dragons all baring down on a dark haired elf-woman. His heart stopped as he watched them mourn, Saphira's azure eyes filled with grief and tears as she stared down at the elf that was hunched over on the ground on her knees. He stared at her, heart pounding erratically in chest before he started forward. "Arya!" Eragon called to her willing her to hear his voice and see him—willing her to look up and show to him that she was uninjured and fine. She did not; instead she remained in her doubled over position.

He neared her, skirting about Thorn's large mass as he did so as the dragon reared his head back and let out another mournful song. _No! She was not dead! She couldn't be! _Nearing her, he called out to her once more. "Arya, what is wrong?"

She did not respond to him and the fear that he felt in his head made his knees weak. Unable to stand not being at her side, he let his feet carry him forward as fast as the wind. When he was within fifteen feet of her, she shifted on the spot. Her dark hair swayed with her movements as she straightened and he paused, catching sight of her face. Despite the grim and filth of the battle and the blood that coated her skin in thin lines, she was as beautiful as ever. However, her beauty was marred by her painful expression. Her emerald eyes were wide with tears and clouded with anguish so deep that he felt his heart give way and he wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms and ease her pain. A tear fell from her eyes and then another and another before she was crying outright. Her body was whacked in sobs and her beautiful voice twisted in a lament of her own.

_But why was she crying? _

Arya appeared to be in good health to him. Apart from her grief, she did not seem injured which gave him a great feeling of relief. He had managed to protect her from Galbatorix. If she was not injured or dead then why were the dragons grieving? Eyes roaming over Arya, they paused at the body that laid in her arms and the stained silver of the armor. _No! It can't be Murtagh! _"Arya!" Eragon called again as he ran forward just as another voice called out to her.

"Arya!"

Pausing mid-step, Eragon turned to find Murtagh running towards Arya. Behind him, he could see the leaders running or riding towards the scene as fast as they could, no doubt alarmed by the laments of the dragons. Murtagh was alive…then who was the person that Arya was grieving over so tremendously? A friend of hers? But then why would the dragons grieve as well? Feeling as if he was in a dream, he let his feet carry himself forward so that he could get a better look of the person wrapped in Arya's embrace.

Every step felt like an eternity as he drew closer to her wandering with everything in his being what it was that could have happened. The terrible sounds that came from Arya as her sobs racked her body pierced him and when she shifted slightly was Eragon finally able to catch sight of the person she was mourning over. His eyes took in the tousled chestnut hair that was slick with sweat and filth, the pale complexion of a body that was lifeless, the face stained in the crimson hue of blood, and the dented silver armor.

Lying in her arms was him.

Unable to move forward, he merely watched as her tears continued to pour through her as she cried for him. Was that him? Was he the unmoving body that laid in her arms? That couldn't be though. He was standing right before her! He was still alive! There was no way he could be dead. A dead person could not exist on Alagaësia. And yet here he was standing before Arya and lying in her arms at the same time. Which one of him was real? Or perhaps this was just a horrid nightmare.

"Arya!" he turned at Murtagh's cry and watched as his brother slowed to a stop, his eyes widening at the sight of Eragon's body lying in Arya's arms unmoving. Disbelief seemed to take over Murtagh as his blue eyes focused on the body of his younger brother and then he spoke in a strangled voice that sounded as if he did not understand the world any more. "Arya…Eragon…wake him up…he shouldn't be sleeping now…"

He stopped, swallowing thickly as Saphira let out a roar of grief. Eragon did not want to believe it either. He felt as if he was merely watching a nightmare flit by. He had killed Galbatorix, he was standing here and yet he was dead. The gloom that had settled over Urû'baen appeared to be much deeper now and it began to take root within the Varden and its allies as realization began to dawn on them.

When Arya made no move to answer Murtagh, his brother took a step forward stumbling slightly as he collapsed to his knees unable to move on, his face of complete shock. Eragon turned away from him. He couldn't look at Murtagh for it made him understand that this was reality—that he was truly dead. Entranced by his own death he started forward feeling as if the world was tilted sideways. Everything felt surreal to him. He was dead and yet he was still living. Was some sort of magic holding him back in Alagaësia? Or was this his own will that could not move on? All sound seemed to fade away as he stopped before Arya and his body. Despite the situation and the fact that he was dead, there was a sense of detachment from life as he stared down at himself. Another sob tore through Arya's lips and she appeared to be shaking with violent tremors with every sound that left her. It was horrible. He had always thought her voice to be beautiful and to hear it so warped in grief made him wonder if this was the same voice that held such a lilting beauty.

With intent eyes, he watched as she straightened, her ungloved hands coming forward to take his face in her hands and he heard her as clear as day as if she was speaking right beside his own ear. "Eragon…you cannot die…you cannot…not after you have won…not after you defeated Galbatorix," her voice sounded so desperate that he felt his own eyes sting and his heart constrict violently in his chest. "Freedom…it is finally yours…so please…open your eyes…_please Eragon." _

Hearing her words only cemented the fact that he truly was dead. "Arya…" reaching out with his right hand, he paused when it went directly through her. As she continued to plead with his body, Eragon could only stare at his fingers as if they had suddenly turned into something hideous and deformed. He could not touch her anymore. He could no longer feel her warmth and that thought sent a wave of pain through him. He was dead and Arya…Arya was still living.

"Eragon…"

His head whipped to face her as she tenderly caressed his face with her hand, her face streaked with tears and her emerald eyes pained but she was trying to smile for him, even if her red lips trembled with her growing pain. "Eragon…I love you," she leant forward to touch her forehead to his and he watched as she sweetly kissed his unmoving lips and how in that kiss, she murmured his true name but his body did not respond to her any more for he was no longer alive.

"I love you as well, Arya," she did not hear him and he did not expect her to. Instead she just held him close to her as if afraid that the moment she let go of his body he would disappear. He had once heard that love conquered death, that it lived on after death, and perhaps this was true for here he was and even if he was no longer living he could still feel a part of Arya within him. He felt her deep anguish and yet her even greater love for him. Her emotions were so strong that he wanted to shy away from them but instead, he merely stood there and continued to watch. It was as if he had a duty to watch the scene before him despite the pain it brought to his heart.

He watched as she ran a hand through his hair, brushing stray locks of hair away from his face. He watched as she traced a finger from his temple to his chin, lingering over his jaw. He watched as she shifted him in her arms, cradling his head against the crook of her neck. Surreal. Detached. A nightmare. That was what he was watching. She was touching him and yet he could not feel the warmth of her skin on him. All he felt was the part of Arya that had died with him swirling about in his own soul.

Was this victory?

He had done what he was asked of. He had fought Galbatorix and he had won but at the cost of what? His own life? _I had always believed I would die, _thought Eragon as he stared at Arya and himself, _but I hoped that one day Arya and I would have been able to live our lives out together. Yet this is…_

Did he regret dying?

_No…_

He had fought and he had won even if that meant sacrificing his own life. Eragon was not naïve. He did not believe that he would survive for Galbatorix was a foe unlike any other. Yet, he still held on hope—hope that he would not die no matter how the odds were stacked against him. Fate, however, had different plans. There was once a time in which he would welcome death with open arms. That was before he met Arya and now he did not wish to die not when there was a future without Galbatorix directly before him. It was unfair.

He heard the soft sounds of footsteps and turned to watch as Queen Islanzadí walked forward. Her golden corselet was stained with crimson blood and in her left hand was Naegling; the golden blade was in much the same state as her corselet. It was not her armor that alarmed him. Her expression was one of utter grief as she stared down at her daughter as she cradled her mate. He had thought Islanzadí would have not cared if he died so long as he fought Galbatorix and killed the king. He was wrong and he knew that now as he watched her step forward until she was directly behind Arya.

"Arya," she said softly her hand reaching down to rest on her daughter's shoulder. She did not respond nor did she give any indication that she was aware of her mother's presence behind her. Islanzadí was not deterred for she continued to speak softly in the ancient language. "Arya…you cannot save him. He is—"

"_No," _she cut across her mother savagely. "Do not say it."

Islanzadí stopped and seemingly wishing to calm Arya did not speak any longer. Instead, she curled her fingers about Arya's shoulder and stood there offering her daughter her strength and support. Then a cry of agony rose up and he was surprised to find that it belonged to Murtagh and one by one, those who survived, those who were celebrating but moments earlier let their voices join in on the mourning. He heard the deep shouts of the Urgals, the melodious songs of the elves, the cries of mourning of humans, and the rough voices of the dwarves. They all came together to sing a song of lamentation alongside the dragons. Listening to them and watching as Arya tightened her grip on his body only served to reinforce the coming realization.

_I am dead. _

The moment the thought crossed his mind he felt the world fade away before him and panic rose up in him as the image of Arya and Saphira was swept away from him. The buildings of Urû'baen began to collapse in on themselves, disappearing along with the people. The lament steadily grew quieter until it was nonexistent. He was no longer standing in Urû'baen. Instead, he was now standing in the sanctuary of Alagaësia. Below his feet was the smooth water that comprised the ground and twisting from the ground were emerald columns, the stream of consciousness.

"You fought well," Eragon turned to find Alagaësia standing behind him. She was, once more, in Arya's form and hearing her voice made his heart ache. He did not know what was going to become of Arya but he could tell that it would take years for her to recover from his death. If she ever did. In that moment, he felt sorry to her. If he could dig out his own heart to give to her as an apology he would. He never wanted to bring such sorrow to Arya—to Saphira. _Please…do not do anything reckless for my sake…please live on…Arya, Saphira…_

"Not well enough," Eragon replied softly. His eyes darted about the sanctuary and then they flickered to the ground. He would soon be joining the souls of the dead in the other world. He should feel panicked perhaps even fearful. Yet, in his heart he only felt a sense of deep calm and acceptance. There was nothing left for him. A part of him admitted his fate and was ready to move on but another part of him—the one with Arya—refused to be parted from the world. He did not want to leave her. Not yet. Not now.

"You defeated him," Alagaësia did not smile nor did she cheer as his allies did. Instead, she merely observed him with her emerald eyes. It was difficult for him to hold her stare since her eyes were the eyes of the elf of whom was beloved to him. They stared at each other for a moment longer and then she continued. "You do not seem to be overjoyed though."

"I find it hard to believe that anyone would enjoy death," said Eragon shaking his head. "I had always thought my life would not transcend my task to kill Galbatorix and it seems as if I was right in thinking so. In the end, I was meant to die." _Angela's prophecies were worthless, at least part of it was. He was not going to live a long life. _He could see that now.

"You are not dead," said Alagaësia softly. At his curious eyes, she elaborated. "Your physical body is dead and with it, your connection to the physical world. However Eragon do not forget that your soul is different from that of a regular being. You possess the soul of a human, a spirit, and an elf. As such, the boundaries between this sanctuary and the other world do not necessarily hold for you." When he did not answer her, Alagaësia merely inclined her head and once more he was struck by how much she reminded him of his soul bond. "You have the choice to stay here or move on."

_Move on? _

His eyes darted to the ground below him and underneath the calm surface of the water he could see another world waiting for him. If he moved on that would mean he would have to leave behind all those whom he came to care for back in the physical plane of Alagaësia. His heart clenched and his throat felt as if it was constricting him, not allowing air to pass through. No, he did not want to move on. There was still left for him to do. Moving on would on mean that he was abandoning his world—abandoning his loved ones and even in death he could not forgive himself if he moved on. There had to be another way. There had to be something that he could do. He did not want to die yet. There was a flash of a memory before him and he saw her smiling warmly at him, her emerald eyes sparkling. A moment passed and then he saw Saphira gazing down at him, her large azure irises sparkling. He could not leave them. Not yet.

"I killed Galbatorix?" asked Eragon needing some sort of confirmation.

"You did," said Alagaësia with a nod, "As a result, he was able to kill you before his entire being was wiped from Alagaësia. You were unable to protect yourself in those last moments and his magic managed to get past your defenses. Which is why you stand here once more for you have passed through the gate without the need of a key."

Eragon frowned, there was no need to reiterate that he was dead. He knew that well enough. He was standing in her sanctuary after all. "Alagaësia," she turned her eyes to him waiting for what he had to say. "I know that it is not my place to ask you of any favors but if you could help me, please give me another chance. Give me another way to save my world."

"I cannot bring back the dead," she said softly with sad eyes as she gazed at him. "You know that as well as I do that once a physical embodiment of a soul is damaged beyond repair either by injury or age, it cannot be replaced. Immortality does not mean invincibility. I cannot give you a second chance at life."

"There must be some way for me to continue on," insisted Eragon. It was selfish of him but what was there to lose? If there was any way for him to continue on he would. He was not ready to lie down in the waiting arms of death. He wanted to move forward. "I know it is selfish of me to ask and to request such of you Alagaësia but please…you must know of another way. I am not asking for a second chance at life. I am asking for a first for I have not known what it means to live apart from the short time I have spent with the Varden. Please, just listen to my request."

Listened she did. Her head was inclined to the side as she studied him with hard eyes. Her lips were pressed into a thin line and her expression was one of contemplation. Eragon did not know how long he stood there waiting for her to tell him her thoughts on his request. It was his desperation that drove him to ask her of such a thing for he was not ready to accept his death. He was not ready to depart from Arya and Saphira. He wanted to continue to be with them even if it meant redoing his entire life again. Perhaps there was a way for him to relive his memories? Even if it was a limited life he would not minding living it once more even if they were memories. There was a slight shift in her expression as Alagaësia regarded him curiously and then she spoke, slowly and uncertainly.

"You desire a way to live?" she asked with a somber expression.

"I do," nodded Eragon as his determination showed through. He was not going to let his fear take the best of him not now. Even in death, he had to remain strong. Within his chest, he felt the swirl of emotions that was Arya's and her deep anguish still lingered within him. If she refused to let go, Eragon refused to do so as well. Hands trembling slightly, he brought his right hand up to stare at the silver patch of skin on his palm. _Give me strength Saphira…Arya…_

"Are you willing to shoulder the burden of your request?"

"I am," Eragon replied with another nod. As he spoke, his eyes flickered to the stream of consciousness and he could not help but feel insignificant as he took in the pulsing stream of memories—of life itself as recorded by the dead. Now his memories had become a part of the stream and his history had merged together with the memories of the others. That was all he was now. He was a mere memory in the physical world. The thought both angered and saddened him. He wasn't ready to become a mere memory.

"Then remember your words," Alagaësia warned him as she lifted a hand skyward. "Consider this a gift to you for ridding Alagaësia of Galbatorix but listen carefully. You must be careful with the choices that you decide for you will not have a second chance to do so once more." She whispered his true name and unlike how his physical body had responded when Arya had whispered it, he felt a tremor course through him as a bell of recognition sounded in his mind. The strange, alien hymn filled the air once more as the stream of consciousness began to shift and bend according to the will of Alagaësia. The emerald river began to loop about him like a snake would its prey, curling with greater heights until he found himself standing in a spinning circular wall of memories.

The circle bent inwards about him as he watched the memories pass him by. Bending his knees, his arms outstretched to keep him balanced, he waited as Alagaësia went about her magic. He did not know the intentions of the spiritual embodiment of the land but he trusted her. Then the circle of magic fluctuated once more, closing in tighter about him as a great pain exploded in the back of his head and his entire vision went white. Once more he felt his body being compressed and torn apart at the simultaneously, this time his entire soul with it.

The hymn grew stronger until it was a loud thundering that rolled in his ears. The wall of memories continued to press in on him until he felt their burdens being pressed down on him, forcing him to his knees. Then all at once, he felt the bombardment of memories in his mind threatening to tear him apart. Once more, he saw strangers he'd never met before, events that he'd never heard of, and things he did not want to see. They pressed against him, a tremendous amount of voices and images that threatened to rip him apart at the seams and leave him in tatters. Trying to reel in the thoughts that exploded before him, he fought against the pressing stream trying to find a moment in history that he could focus upon. Determined, he cast out in the ocean of memories that threatened to drown and suffocate him for once that would take his full attention away from the others. Shifting through the memories, he blinked when one came forward and stretched about his mind covering every nook and cranny that his mind had to offer. It completely blanketed out everything else.

_Urû'baen, there was a tremendous battle on the plains before the city. It was the elves; they were fighting against Galbatorix and his Forsworn. Above he saw the dragons circling the sky, bellowing their rage and their thirst for blood as the battle raged beneath them. He saw flashes of magic and heard the clangs of metal against metal and knew that this battle was one that was ferocious and at the same time tentative for the tide could easily be turned._

_His eyes scanned for Galbatorix and he found the man standing in the midst of the raging battle, swinging the pale blade that once belonged to Vrael about in his hands, slashing down his enemies with a sword that once brought justice and order to Alagaësia not misery and sorrow. He was fighting with an older elf and Eragon recognized the elf with a jolt. He had seen him before on a fairth in Arya's chambers._

_It was King Evandar. Overhead, Blagden flew as if to protect the elven king._

A bellow tore through the air causing his eyes to fly open. The earlier ache he felt in the back of his mind was gone. _Where am I? _Another bellow tore through the air causing surprise and anxiety to tear through him. _Saphira? _Trying to move to his feet, he found that his limbs ached with a burning fire and he gasped at the pain. Taking in a shuddering breath, Eragon pushed himself to his feet stumbling slightly as he took in a battlefield that stretched across the entire plains before him. There was a familiarity to his surroundings that echoed within him. He had seen this before.

Another bellow sounded above him and he lifted his head to find the sky filled with thirteen dragons, a large black one standing out amongst its companions. _Shruikan…_but the dragon was not as large as he remembered it to be. What was more alarming was that Eragon did not recognize the other dragons. They swooped over the battlefield grabbing at warriors and releasing torrents of flames so great that it would burn alive any soldier to ashes if they did not have wards to protect them. Glancing all about him, he took in the fair elves that fought and the lack of any other allies of the Varden. The dwarves, Urgals, and werecats were not present. Where was this place?

Eyes darting forward, he blinked at the sight of a large city a few miles away but he recognized the walls even if they were not as thick or as tall as Galbatorix had made them. That was Urû'baen. Yet, why was he here on the plains before the city? _What was going on? _The battle about him parted and his heart nearly failed him. Not far off, he spotted Galbatorix fighting, however, he was younger. Rather than appearing in his fourth decade, he looked a few years older than Eragon himself. His ensemble was the same despite his youth. On his head he wore an ancient gold crown with sparkling jewels, an ebony attire, and in his hand he wielded a pale sword—Islingr, Vrael's sword.

Though he was shocked to see Galbatorix, he could not describe how he felt as his eyes took in the traitor king's opponent. Fighting with great strength and speed, his silver hair shining in the sunlight and his stern, determined gray eyes narrowed was an elf whom Eragon recognized.

The elf that was fighting Galbatorix was Arya's father—King Evandar.

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**So how did you all like this chapter? This story will be much more difficult than RL was. I had the Inheritance Books to go off of but now I have to try to piece together the sparse information that CP has given in the original to try and rewrite history. So if some details appear questionable in the later chapters, I hope you all won't mind. Apart from that, how was the prologue? As always I shall always enjoy your reviews. And I also wanted to say that this story will not be updated daily like RL was. I will try to find a good update speed but I'm also busy working on a separate novel at the moment. In any case please leave your thoughts and I shall see you all soon in the next chapter! **


	2. Chapter 2

**The moment when you finish the chapter and you're not satisfied with it and you end up rewriting half of it and then rewriting it some more. Once more I'm sort of experimenting with the time travel thing and I've been tiptoeing about the time line that CP has laid out for us in the original. I want to keep to it but change it up. In any case this is the second chapter of the story in which it just breaks TMF more into the plot line. So far only Eragon and Evandar has been introduced. But more characters will be seen soon, so R&R! **

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It was then that time had stopped for him. All he could do was watch, frozen in place, as King Evandar fought blow for blow with Galbatorix. He had seen this before. Heart pounding with his realization, Eragon could only continue to stare as the battle about him dimmed and his eyes remained focused on King Evandar. He had seen this before back when he had touched the stream of consciousness and the scene continued to play out before his very eyes as he continued to watch Evandar and Galbatorix. They fought just as he had remembered watching back in Alagaësia's sanctuary.

He was strong and powerful thought Eragon as he watched the king fight Galbatorix blow for blow, never tiring nor losing in speed or strength. They elves, Eragon assumed, were channeling their energy into the king so that he could fight to the best of his abilities. They were his greatest hope in defeating the traitor at the moment with the fall of the Riders and the death of Vrael, the only person who could have been capable of destroying Galbatorix had he not faltered when delivering the final blow.

Then he saw it as Evandar raised his blade. There was a flash of black magic as their blades met and the blade of the sword in the elf king's hand gave way to the Rider's blade in Galbatorix's hands. The silver blade snapped, the halved end piece flying through the air leaving the king with a jagged and useless blade to defend himself.

Knowing what was to come next, Eragon propelled himself forward without a second thought, his hand flying automatically to his waist and to his surprise, wrapped about Brisingr. With a flourish of his arm, he slid the iridescent sapphire blade from its sheath as he sailed forward ignoring the fighting about him as he focused on the pale blade of Islingr—now Vrangr—as Galbatorix lifted the sword high above his head ready to cut down the king in a savage blow. As he pushed forward, he saw an image of Arya in his mind. He was not going to stand idly by when her father was going to be killed. If he had to bear the sin of altering time he was going to do it willingly. This was Alagaësia's gift to him. This was his chance to start over—to move forward and he was going to take it.

Faster than any elf could match, Eragon was upon them and with a rough hand, shoved the king out of the way as he brought Brisingr forward to meet the blade of Vrangr. A snarl left his lips as he took in Galbatorix. This was the man who killed him a century from now. This was the man who tore his world from him. He had taken away his means of happiness. _Saphira, Arya, his family…they no longer existed. Not as he remembered them. _"You shall pay Galbatorix," Eragon spat at him refusing to budge as the two of them stood together, swords locked.

"And who are you? Another pitiful Rider that could not manage to protect his own dragon?" Galbatorix asked with a sneer as he pushed back at Eragon with Vrangr trying to overwhelm him. With his free hand, Eragon reached up behind his back searching for the pommel of Vrangr and was surprised to also find his second blade resting in its sheath. Not having time to question why that was, he drew the second blade much to Galbatorix's surprise and with a great shove threw the king back. He was not going to let Galbatorix have the satisfaction of robbing Evandar of his life.

Running forward, he met Galbatorix's blade blow for blow with Brisingr and Vrangr trying to knock the sword from his hands. As they continued to fight, he could tell that Galbatorix was starting to become fearful from the gleam in his black eyes. He was not expecting another opponent that would dare to challenge him apart from King Evandar it appeared. If he killed Galbatorix now, he could end everything before it started. With that resolve in mind, he twisted Brisingr nicking the king on his right arm and drawing blood.

Before he could swing his arm once more, he heard a loud bellow overhead and a torrent of wind came down on him as Shruikan dived down and swiped at him with his large tail, knocking him backwards and off of his feet, tearing a deep gash in his right shoulder. He blinked in surprise. Why had his wards not protected him? Jumping to his feet once more, Eragon was about to charge at Galbatorix before a hand gripped his uninjured shoulder followed by a strong voice in the ancient language. "No, if you fight him you will lose. We must retreat!"

Surprised, he turned to find himself facing King Evandar. The elf-king wore a grim faced expression, his armor and arms stained with blood but the light in his eyes showed his seriousness. Protest welled up in him as anger encompassed his mind as he glanced back at Galbatorix. "Your Majesty, he is before us! We must see to his end else we may never get a chance to do so anymore!"

If they wait, they would continue to have to wait for a hundred years before they had another chance to fight Galbatorix. A century…he could not wait a century while Galbatorix went about to do as he pleased. He was about to move forward, ready to ignore Evandar's command, until the king's grip on his shoulder tightened. "You will not win! He is too powerful! He has already ensured a way of victory and with his Forsworn we cannot hope to match him. There is no other way!" His expression became hard as he stared at Eragon. "Retreat now!"

All about him, he saw the elves abandon their fight with Galbatorix's followers. He saw them bend to retrieve their allies that were slain in the fighting, he saw them sheath their swords, and raise their shields as they turned away from the fighting. He had ordered a retreat before the battle was saw through. This was their defeat and as Eragon turned his head back to Galbatorix he understood why. The king had managed to collect hundreds of Eldunarí to provide him and his servants strength. They could not hope to defeat them as they were and without the aid of a Dragon Rider. Clenching the pommels of both of his swords, Eragon nodded to the king.

Their only path left was to retreat to safety. He had no means of fighting against Galbatorix. Saphira was not there with him nor his companions and his body felt too heavy and weak from the spell casted by Alagaësia. Sheathing his blades, he turned to Evandar as the elf-king ran beside him. As they ran, he heard the elves all about him gather in song, their voices coming together to weave an enchantment about the army as they began to retreat from Galbatorix. They went eastward towards the Hadarac Desert trying to escape the boundaries of the Empire and Galbatorix's reaches. But it hurt thought Eragon as he reached up to grip at his right shoulder. He saw the green mist that represented Arya's magic but it was weak and feeble. And the pounding returned once more, his head feeling fit to burst. Trying to keep pace with the king, it was near impossible for him to shrug off the stupor he was in. His body suddenly felt heavy and his limbs unresponsive.

Lagging behind Evandar, Eragon grunted when his unresponsive body refused to cooperate with him and he fell to the ground on his arms and knees. _Get up! _He wanted to listen to his mind but his heart was pounding too much in his chest. And suddenly he was gone. There was nothing left save for darkness as the world faded from him once more.

_Why are you doing this?_

_Arya that is my name. And should I call you Gabranth or Eragon?_

_Eragon, please, call me Eragon._

_I want to stand by you, Eragon…as your friend…as a fellow dragon rider…and as your mate._

_I love you, Arya._

_This world hangs in the balance Arya, to gain you must sacrifice._

_I love you Eragon._

_You gave me happiness unlike ever before, a sense of fulfillment that I did not know I was missing until we came together. Seventy years of searching and wandering, I found peace in the midst of war. I found it in you—in your soul._

_ I love you Eragon. _

_I want forever with you, however long it may be. The both of us together._

_I want you to know that wherever you go…I will follow._

Groaning slightly, his eyes fluttered open as he blinked trying to clear his mind of the memories of the time he spent with Arya. His head pounding still, Eragon shifted where he laid. Where was he? Lately he had been finding himself waking up in strange places which did nothing to alleviate his growing confusion with reality. Pushing himself up, Eragon glanced about. He was in a tent, a white tent to be specific but he could not remember how he had come to such a location. All he remembered was dying, his plead to Alagaësia, and appearing once more on the battlefield before Urû'baen a century earlier. Coughing slightly, he blinked glancing about himself. By his side laid Vrangr and Brisingr, both of their scabbards shining brightly.

It still did not make sense how his swords were taken back in time with him. Trying to shake the lethargy that seemed to have settled over him, he reached out to grip Vrangr, his only physical connection to Arya. Pulling the sword from its scabbard he stared at the azure blade which reminded him of Saphira and sighed. If he could not have Saphira and Arya beside him, he at least had some sort of physical representation of them even if it hurt to stare at it. _How did Alagaësia send me back along with Vrangr and Brisingr? _Though Eragon did not understand the concept of time he had always thought it impossible to send back a physical object back through time. If one did not exist in the past then they simply did not exist and yet here he was a hundred years before his time after the fall of the Riders.

Shaking his head to clear his foggy thoughts, his eyes darted to his right shoulder. It was healed from the earlier injury that Shruikan had dealt to him. The metal of his armor was torn. He did not know how it was going to be fixed seeing as it were the dwarves that fashioned the armor for him. He was certainly no master smith. Reaching up to touch the jagged ends of the torn metal, his eyes darted to his right hand and instantly a frantic panic overwhelmed him. Tearing off his gloves, he turned his right hand over to take a look at his palm.

The silver opal that was his gedwëy ignasia faced him.

A sigh of relief left his lips. He was still connected to Saphira. Even if they were torn apart by time and his own death, he still was her Rider and the thought brought a such a wave of emotions over him that he thought he might cry but instead, he merely released a deep breath. He was still connected to Saphira even if she had yet to hatch for him. And if he remembered correctly, he still held a piece of Arya's soul within him. The part of her magic that was attached to him had tried to heal his injury that he had suffered from Shruikan. It was too weak to heal his wound showing how weak their connection was but it was enough to tell him that a part of Arya still lived within him. Even if he was dead in their time, they were still alive in him in this time. Was this another gift that Alagaësia bestowed on him or was it a side effect of her magic? Either way, he was still grateful. Reaching up to lay his hand over his heart, he closed his eyes trying to feel for the part of Arya that was in him. It was weak and there was a sorrow to it at their separation but he could also feel the warmth of her love and he knew that she was still with him. The Arya in this time did not know him but his Arya would always be with him in his soul.

As he sat on the bedroll that someone had been kind enough to provide for him, Eragon's mind begin to try and piece together what had happened. One moment, he was dead standing in the sanctuary of Alagaësia and the next moment, he woke to a battlefield on the plains before Urû'baen. He had saw Evandar and Galbatorix fighting right before his very eyes. A chill ran down his spine as he realized what it was that he had just done. He had changed an event in history and that event was going to ripple outwards and subsequently alter the history that he'd known all of his life. King Evandar did not die back in the fighting with Galbatorix. He had survived and retreated in the face of certain defeat.

Trying to think back to his memories of the way the world was a century earlier, Eragon frowned. Evandar's death had been a monumental event in the lives of Islanzadí and Arya both. Mother and daughter had sought their vengeance in any way they could. Islanzadí was then made the sole ruler of Du Weldenvarden while Arya after three decades of life in Ellesméra took up her post as the elven ambassador for her people. She had once confessed to him that it was her father's death that had propelled her outside of the forest and had given her hope that one day she could be a Rider to avenge him. Would that change now that Evandar wasn't dead? Would Arya lack the motivation to venture outside the forest?

It was just too complicated for him to think of, it felt as if his mind was splitting open. _This was your wish, _thought Eragon fiercely, _do not back out of it now. _Alagaësia must have sensed some purpose in bringing him back a hundred years before his time. She must have seen something in him and his wish otherwise why would she risk sending him so far back? If only he could speak with her. Eragon's eyes widened. He could speak with her! He just needed to open the gate. Reaching forward for Vrangr, he stood pushing his bedroll to the side to reveal a patch of dirt. Taking in a deep breath, he drove the tip of Vrangr into the ground, a silent hiss went through the blade but otherwise it remained as it was.

That was odd, why wouldn't it work? He waited trying to see if blood would be forced out of the blade in order to open the gate but Vrangr remained stubbornly still. Standing there for a minute longer, he lifted his sword from the ground to study the blade. "Vrangr," whispered Eragon. It came to life with a deadly aura. The blade instantly began to glow a dark violet edge that pulsed along the blade. It still responded to him but why did it no longer respond to Alagaësia? Sheathing his blade, Eragon returned to his bedroll deep in thought.

He was only certain of a few things. First was that he was a hundred years back in time. Second, he had somehow managed to retain his swords. Third, he was alive and finally, the power that lay within Vrangr was too weak to open the gate to Alagaësia. Could that be because the part of Asura that was within him was not strong enough? He knew that Asura was still a part of his soul just as Arya was but there was something strange with the workings of his body at the moment. He could not understand himself in the context of this world as he understood himself in his own time. Who was he?

Was he still Eragon Shadeslayer? Was he still a Kingkiller? A Rider?

Rubbing his temple, Eragon frowned, feeling the headache return once more and he wanted to desperately lash out to relieve himself of the feelings that bombarded him. He felt lonely, he felt frustrated, and most of all he felt out of place. He was still the Wandering Fire it seemed. His wandering was never going to end was it? A despondent chuckle left his lips as he thought about his situation. Now he was truly lonely. Saphira was not here with him and he could no longer depend on her strength. His mother was yet to be born as well as his servants all with the exception of Rosalie. He blinked, he could seek Rosalie out but would she follow him as she did in his time? Or would she merely cast him off as a bothersome pest as she did most men? There were so many questions and yet no answers to be easily found. Then there was also Arya. If he did his calculations correctly, she was only three at this time.

He groaned another tremendous headache making its way to the forefront. Shaking his head, he stood and slipped Brisingr onto its place on his waist while he strapped Vrangr onto his back. There was no use of trying to split his head open just thinking. He would have more time to think about his current situation. At the moment, he had to go about trying to reevaluate what was going on now. After saving King Evandar's life, he had a suspicion that time was going to begin to deviate from what he remembered.

Before exiting the tent, Eragon made sure to check over his wards and to his surprise, he had none currently protecting him. That was odd. Alagaësia had managed to send back his physical body as well as Vrangr and Brisingr but his wards did not hold out in the face of the travel through time. Wrapping his wards about himself once more, Eragon pushed the tent flap aside to be greeted by the warmth of the sun and an open meadow. Where was he? All about he could see several tents, his eyes flew to the closest person by him and they landed on an elf-man who was studying his pale blade with narrowed eyes. His expression was stoic but he could see the anger in his eyes. He was no doubt angered by the fact that they had lost to Galbatorix.

Eragon turned away from the sight, floundering on the spot. What was he supposed to do now? He had no sense of purpose and he did not know the command structure anymore. As he appeared, he was an elf and they would no doubt consider him as such. He did not dare to tell them of his true origins and nor did he even want to consider what they would do to him if he told him he was from a future a hundred years before their time. Would they eradicate him as a threat to history? Or would they use them for their own means? He did not even want to consider the possibilities.

"Ah you are awake," he turned his head to find a dark haired elf staring at him with a kind expression. Usually, in his own time the only elf to stare at him decently was Arya. Every other elf kept their distance and when they did speak with him it was usually rather polite and distanced. It seemed as if they thought of him as one of their own. He could only nod politely to the elf who continued to greet him.

"Atra esterní ono thelduin, Shur'tugal."

"Atra du evarínya ono varda," Eragon replied not missing a beat. He did not know how the elf knew he was a Rider but he could only think that the sight of Vrangr and Brisingr spoke for his title as Rider more so than he did. The elf inclined his head to him.

"Evandar Könungr has asked that if you were to wake that he would like to speak to you," said the elf. He paused before he continued. "If you would seek him out at the command tent, he shall be ready for you."

"Yes of course," said Eragon trying his best to remain civilized. He was no longer a Dragon Rider in this time and he had to live underneath a guise for a moment. Without Saphira and Arya, he was unsure of what the elves would do to him. He could not risk it. Instead, he began to wander about the encampment trying to find the supposed command tent that the elf talked about. It was a rather difficult task seeing as almost all the tents appeared similar. It wasn't until he came across a white tent with rather regal symbols and two guards stationed on either side of the entrance did he recognize the command tent. And if his memory served him correctly, Queen Islanzadí also had a similar command structure.

One of the guards stationed outside the tent took one look at him before she nodded to her male companion. He waited patiently watching as she drew back the flap and entered to announce his presence. If Eragon was glad about one thing it was the fact that the command structure did not change in the last century. A minute passed and the female guard reappeared. She nodded to him and waved him inside. Giving them one last glance, Eragon pushed the tent flap aside and entered the tent.

Inside, he spotted King Evandar speaking to someone by way of mirror, though he could not see the other person, Eragon could hazard a good assumption as to who it was. Hesitating slightly, he glanced about the tent. He did not spot the other lords or even Lord Däthedr, who was Islanzadí's most trusted advisors, within the tent. It was merely just King Evandar. He still wore his golden corselet but now it was cleaned and unstained. A thin blade hung from his hip and once more Eragon was struck at how Evandar was very similar in way of his mate. Or perhaps it was a trait that all monarchs carried for he did not know. Walking deeper into the spacious command tent, he glanced at the folding table littered with maps and reports in which the flameless lantern that hung on the tent post shined down on. Curious as to what it was Eragon had to restrain himself as he watched Evandar bid whoever he was speaking to farewell.

The king turned and Eragon caught sight of dark raven hair before the mirror was cleared. Was that Queen Islanzadí? He barely had any time to contemplate who the person was before Evandar turned to him with waiting eyes. In the moment that he laid his eyes on Evandar, Eragon wondered what it was that drew Islanzadí to the elf-king. Certainly not status for she was a princess of her own right. But there was something in the way that Evandar held himself that bespoke of a trait that he'd seen in Arya. The rather stern looking king stood out against the other elves just as how Islanzadí did when he met her for the first time. He was regal and imposing and his presence demanded the respect that it deserved.

Eragon touched his lips and then twisted his right hand over his sternum, remembering that he should be the one to greet the king first. "Evandar Könungr. Atra esterní ono thelduin."

"Atra du evarínya ono varda, Shur'tugal," Evandar responded in kind. In the earlier fury of battle, Eragon had been unable to process his surroundings well enough but now with his mind cleared did he realize that the king had a rich voice just as Islanzadí and Galbatorix had. There was a smoothness to it that could outshine even the strongest of orators. In this one moment, Eragon understood that King Evandar could be his greatest enemy or his greatest ally. While Queen Islanzadí was a daunting figure—both imposing and royal in all rights, she was also very cunning. The first time he had met the queen, she had used an audience of nobles to manipulate Arya into accepting her forgiveness. If Evandar was anything like his mate, it made him a person to be weary of.

"Un atra mor'ranr lífa unin hjarta onr," Eragon completed the greeting giving his highest regards to the king. Arya respected her father greatly. She respected Evandar to the point that she had devoted a greater part of her life to exact vengeance for her father's death. And it was his death that had given Arya the needed motivation to leave the safeties of Du Weldenvarden and take up the yawë. This was the man that had shaped Arya unknowingly in his death.

Evandar regarded him for a long moment before he lifted his hand motioning for Eragon to straighten. He did so waiting for the elf king to speak. "What is your name, Rider?" he asked curiously and Eragon blinked. He was positive that the king would know of all the Riders currently and those that were lost in the battle. This was a predicament. He could try to lie his way through the entire exchange but if it was seen through he could lose what little trust he had gartered from rescuing Evandar from Galbatorix.

The only way to go about this was to be as truthful as he could be without giving away too much information. "Eragon, Your Majesty," answered Eragon watching as a startled look crossed Evandar's face before it disappeared to be replace with curiosity tinged with caution.

"May I ask as to what family you are from Eragon?"

That was right, thought Eragon his mind racing as he tried to reel the situation in, elves introduced themselves based on family name and house. Eragon was not an elf and therefore could not merely make up a name on the spot. He could not have the king finding out that he was indeed from the future. He was not sure how Evandar would react and the knowledge alone was too dangerous to share. Not yet as of presently. Trying to find a roundabout way of answering, he tentatively settled for one. "I do not belong to a house," said Eragon glad when the ancient language flowed from him without any hesitation. "I have no family."

Once more he could see the surprise that settled over Evandar's face at his words. It was true for as of this moment, Eragon did not have a family. His family was not born yet. In this one instance, he was truly glad for the loopholes that the ancient language presented. If he just tiptoed along this line he would be fine. "What of your dragon?"

"Galbatorix has taken her from me," said Eragon once more glad that he could speak in the ancient language albeit in a roundabout way of doing so. Evandar stared at him with a sad expression, looking sympathetic to him. It was true; Galbatorix had killed him and in doing so had taken Saphira away from him.

"I see," said Evandar, "I am sorry for your loss."

Eragon nodded and he felt the deep ache of not having Saphira by his side anymore. He waited for Evandar to continue knowing that the last of the questioning was still far off. Evandar's gray eyes became piercing as he scrutinized Eragon. "I know I am being frank with you Eragon," Evandar spoke in a hard voice, curiosity still evident in his tone, "But I have yet to hear of a Rider with the name Eragon for it is a name rarely bestowed upon children."

"I was not part of the Order," said Eragon watching as a gleam entered Evandar's eyes. "I raised my dragon on my own." Though Galbatorix did give him Saphira's egg to see if she would hatch for him, Eragon was the one who raised her. That was the truth in his life a hundred years earlier and he could only hope that King Evandar did not ask how he learned magic or what not for if he did he would be hard pressed to answer. He could not say that Galbatorix thought him for it would lead to the king doubting his loyalties.

"How did you come across an egg?" Eragon blinked gritting his teeth. If it was Islanzadí questioning him, he would be hard pressed to answer for he knew that she would not trust him but King Evandar appeared to be different from his mate in some aspects. He sought words and then without any other way to go about his answer, he decided to speak honestly.

"Galbatorix gave me the egg," he expected Evandar to draw his sword but he did not instead, he merely watched Eragon curiously as he continued to explain. "He taught me the ways of the Riders and wanted me to serve him…but I refused him. I do not want to fight for him nor his Forsworn."

Evandar nodded understanding pervading his gray eyes. Eragon was confused at his trust and wondered whether or not the king was merely fooling him. But when Evandar spoke once more it was not as he thought. "You said that Galbatorix was the reason why your dragon is no longer with you." Eragon inwardly winced. It wasn't Saphira who was dead, he was dead. He was dead in their time at least. "I suspect that is why you decided to fight against him as opposed to with him. You want revenge for his betrayal."

"Yes," relieved that most of the questioning was done, Eragon paved forward. "Which is why I would like to request a favor from you Your Majesty."

"And what favor would you wish of me?" asked Evandar, his stern face unchanging. "You have saved my life and I shall see what I can do to grant you what it is that you seek. But tread lightly Eragon for there is little to be given in such dark times."

_Yes, I know. _He nodded, "I would like to seek asylum in Ellesméra for the time being. It will only be until I can find a purpose to devote myself to." Now, he was going to leave it to the king to decide. Would he allow a former student of Galbatorix's entrance into Du Weldenvarden or would he turn him away? If it was Queen Islanzadí, she would have had him apprehended the moment she learned that Galbatorix had taught him the ways of the Riders. She would have been certain that Eragon was a spy for the king. Evandar on the other hand regarded him for a long moment and Eragon stared back.

After a long moment in which Eragon thought the king was going to deny him, Evandar spoke, "Your request can only be granted if you swear an oath to me in the ancient language that you do not mean me or my people any harm, that you are what you claim to be, and that you shall not cause any sort of trouble during your stay."

Once more relieved at a chance of reprieve, Eragon did as he was asked and swore those oaths to Evandar. The king, Eragon realized, was a very generous person. He thought of the elf before him and how Arya had told him before that Evandar was a generous and kind king to his people. He remembered the story of how Evandar had blessed Blagden and could only come to the conclusion that between him and Islanzadí, Evandar was the gentler of the two. When he was done, Evandar nodded to him and then he smiled.

"I hope that you will enjoy your time in Ellesméra when we arrive," then his face tightened, "For there is not much to enjoy these days." He turned away from Eragon, his eyes flickering to the map that laid open on his folding table.

"If you do not mind me asking, Your Majesty, but where are we?" asked Eragon trying to ascertain a location.

"We have been traveling for three days hence the Battle for Iliera," said Evandar his eyes flickering from the folding table to Eragon and back. "You were recovering from whatever it was that ailed you during our travels. In another day, we shall reach the outskirts of Du Weldenvarden."

"And what of Iliera?" asked Eragon already knowing what it was that the king was going to tell him.

"The city has fallen to Galbatorix and his Forsworn," said Evandar with a strained expression. "He has renamed it Urû'baen," the way the king said the name instantly told Eragon that he did not agree with the renaming of the ancient elven city. "The entire whole of the western front of Alagaësia has fallen to Galbatorix and his servants. The last of the fighting has exhausted all of our forces and without the Dragon Riders to fight him all we can do is retreat for the meantime. A master hunter always bid one's time before they ensnare their pray, or so they say I can only hope that this is true of our situation."

Eragon nodded; surprised that Evandar would speak to him so comfortably. Once more he could not help but compare the king with his mate and his daughter. Out of the family of three, it appeared that Evandar was indeed gentler than his daughter and mate. At the thought of Arya he felt another pang in his heart. The Arya that he would soon see would not be the one that he knew. And he was fearful, very fearful of what was to become of their relationship when time passed them by. In this time Fäolin was still alive. Would she love him? The thought of it gripped his heart and he fought the growing fear in his mind.

"If you will leave me, Eragon, there are certain matters that I have to attend to," said Evandar, his eyes flickered to Eragon resting on Brisingr and Vrangr momentarily before they darted away. It seemed as if he would ask his questions once more another day. Eragon was glad for he did not know how to go about explaining the existence of both of his swords yet. He said his farewells to the king, thanking him once more for his kindness before he made to leave pausing when Evandar called out to him once more. "Eragon, if you find that you have time, there is another Rider who has lost his dragon to Galbatorix and the Forsworn. Perhaps the two of you can share in each other's grief for one does not understand another fully until they have stepped in their shoes."

"Yes Your Majesty," said Eragon as he stepped outside. _Another Rider? _He thought of the possibilities as he exited the tent. Who could this other Rider be? As he made his way back to his tent where he woke, the thought struck him like a blow to the gut. The Rider whom King Evandar spoke of had to be his father, Brom. He had remembered Murtagh speaking to him about how Brom had fought in the Battle for Iliera and how he had retreated with the elves to recover from his injuries only to leave Du Weldenvarden and form the Varden.

He blinked and suddenly his headache from earlier had come back. He had difficulties dealing with his father who was a wise and knowledgeable man back in his own time. He was positive that he was going to have even more difficulties dealing with a young and brash Brom. At least fate decided to keep one aspect of his life constant, thought Eragon wryly. No matter the time period, he would always find difficulties in dealing with his father.

* * *

**There was a question that asked about my update speed for TMF and I have no answer for that really. Sometime I may update rather quick and other times it may take a few days maybe even a week (hopefully there won't be an instance where it'll take a week to do so). Another concern. I know you all want Saphira to be a part of this story but for the beginning part there won't be Saphira (she will appear later) due to the theory of time travel in this story (which will slowly unravel as the story progresses much like RL). There's that concern addressed. Oh, and about Brisingr and Vrangr those two will also be addressed later on in the story (like RL once again). Since CP never really touched up on time travel, I've worked it out in my head and it makes sense and I can't wait to eventually write the theory out though it might take time to get there so just wait patiently Oh and look forward to Arya's first entrance scene in TMF! Anyways see you all soon! **


	3. Chapter 3

**And the third chapter of this story is up for you all. I've been putting out some time to go over the chapters and fix some mistakes that I catch so I can deliver a spiffing chapter for you all to read! (Hope all the extra time was put to some good use!). Anyways to address some concerns, yes this story will be ExA but it won't be as smooth as RL. There will be some obstacles along the way (hehehe). And yes, this story will have some 'jumps in time'. I don't think I can do a chapter of his life every day or even week for a near century. That would be rather repetitive and it won't serve much of a purpose besides reiterating that Eragon has several decades to live out before his time comes. I think those were the major questions to be addressed so happy reading! R&R! **

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It wasn't until the second day of traveling with Evandar and his company did Eragon have the misfortune of stumbling across his father. He had merely decided to have some fresh air from his tent and away from the elves did he meet the young and brash Brom. It was a sight that he did not enjoy and nor did he particularly like it when his father had the audacity to speak down to him. Just thinking about how easily this could have been avoided, Eragon blinked when the man before him spoke in his questioning anger. Brom was not gray haired and aged as Eragon remembered him to be. Instead, he was younger with chestnut hair that could match Eragon's but lighter and with piercing azure eyes that were clouded with grief and anger. If Eragon were to place his age, he would say that his father was in his mid-second decade. And yet, his mind was that of a young boy who could not move past his anger. He reminded Eragon of himself before he joined the Varden.

_I was always angry, always filled with hate and resentment, always waiting for death, _thought Eragon sadly as he gazed upon his father remembering how he had stumbled across the man. He did not live a happy childhood and he would not wish that type of mindset on anyone else. _Like father like son, _thought Eragon amused, _how ironic fate is. _

Earlier that day, he had decided to leave the comfort of his tent and venture outside. Yesterday evening, they had managed to make it to the outskirts of Du Weldenvarden and the majority of the elves had dispersed in many directions returning to their homes before the war broke out. Meanwhile the company that lived in Ellesméra, particularly the high lords, remained with Evandar to travel with the king back to the capital to deliver the devastating news of their loss. While everyone was going on about their own business, Eragon about had it with all the formalities and whatnot that the elves seemed to pile upon him. He wished to be himself, he wished to not mind the need for eloquence and common etiquette but he lacked the authority to do so in this time. He was another soldier—another Rider with a loss. _A Rider without a dragon is as useless as the next person. _

Unable to remain in the camp any longer without a means to vent his frustration, he sought to move away from the encampment that felt as if it were confining him. He could not understand how one could live like the elves did. He may appear an elf but he would always be a human at heart. Curving around the base of a rather large pine tree, he continued onwards hearing the sound of a running stream. Having not bathed since he had traveled back through time, he would at least like to clean his face. Remembering what Arya said about elves valuing hygiene, he sighed as he studied his nails. There was some dirt underneath some of his nails but for the main part they were clean. Though he needed to round some of his nails out and perhaps even rubbed some oil on the surface. He winced as the thought made its way through his mind. Perhaps he did take up some elf tendencies.

Shaking his head, he easily stepped over several large roots that protruded from the ground and continued on his way through the forest and towards the stream remembering his path as he did so. The forest of Du Weldenvarden was large and if he was not careful he could easily become lost within it for all the trees appeared similar and the surroundings blended in with one another. He did not like the idea of losing his way in the forest and therefore made sure to keep a close eye on the direction he was heading so that he could retrace his steps back to the camp.

Ducking underneath a low branch, he once more let his thoughts wander. He had never been to Du Weldenvarden without Saphira and Arya. The two of them had been his only source of comfort and security in such a foreign place, isolated from the world just as the Beor Mountains were. To be back here now without them made him feel the stark loneliness from earlier return and once more the sudden fear. He was afraid to meet Arya once more and to have her look upon him and see no more than a stranger. In this time he did not save her life. In this time, the two of them were not connected in any way apart from the fact that he saved her father's life. But other than that, he was nothing to her. And he was sure that Fäolin —when she grew older—would mean much more to her than he did. At the thought of Fäolin a chill washed over him. Though Arya never went out and said it, he knew that a part of her before she had met him and loved him had some sort of romantic feelings for Fäolin . He had never questioned her past but he wandered what it was that laid between the two of them. She had said that they were good friends but…there had to be something more.

His mind went back to the time she had confessed to him at Lake Tüdosten. When she had kissed him, it was so experienced that he had wondered if she had learned…from her time spent with Fäolin ? Instantly, he felt an iciness wash over him as he nearly wanted to double over with pain at the thought of Arya loving Fäolin over him. Would she still choose him over Fäolin ? The thought of it nearly made him physically sick. Placing a hand on the tree beside him, he took in a deep breath frowning at the sweat that seemed clung to his forehead.

He would not think of it. Now was not the time. Arya was still young. She was still a child. When she was older and perhaps if he was still alive he would worry over her choice. But he could not help but have a nagging feeling in the back of his mind. Arya, despite her own opinions about her standings, was a princess. Fäolin , whom Eragon did not know well enough, was no doubt from a noble family. While in this time he, Eragon, had nothing. He had no titles to be offered. He was no longer a Dragon Rider, he was not yet a Shadeslayer, he was not a Kingkiller—he was nothing. Compared to Fäolin , he was certainly not the most prominent of suitors. And to add to it, Fäolin was a "kindred" spirit while he had a foul temper and a rather indifferent personality. The Arya currently was already changed from the one that he knew. And he was uncertain of whether the one he would eventually meet and come to learn about would be the same Arya from his time.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Eragon frowned, his brows furrowing with the action. He did not feel well and thinking about Arya only served to make him feel uneasy. Clearing his thoughts of Arya once more, his mind latched onto another topic that was rather painful for him to think of: _Saphira. _She was still in the clutches of Galbatorix and though Eragon could attempt to go and steal her away, he would have to wait until Galbatorix was too confident with his safety within his citadel and walls. Presently, it would be too dangerous for him to attempt to whisk the eggs away from Galbatorix. Having just overthrown the Riders and defeating the last of the resistance, the king was no doubt cautious of his treasures. It was as Evandar had said; he was merely going to have to bid his time. _Wait for me Saphira._ Eragon was not worried about Saphira's safety for he knew Galbatorix would take care of the eggs but he did not like the idea of having her within the king's confines for too long.

Circling about another tree trunk, he emerged from the forest into an open clearing where a steady stream was flowing. Farther up he saw a doe drinking from the stream and could only smile slightly at the peaceful scene. His eyes returning to the stream, Eragon blinked as they passed over a figure that sat on the bank with his back turned to him. He could not see much of the person but he saw that the person had light chestnut hair. He appeared familiar to Eragon but he could not place where he had seen the man before. All he could do was merely stare at his back. His posture was tensed and his hands were clenched as if he was in deep anger.

Eragon stepped forward not being overly quiet with his footsteps and announced his presence as his boots crunched the soft grass beneath his feet. The person tensed and he could see his hand moving to the pommel of his sword that was attached to his hip. Eragon took another step forward and then a sharp voice rang out, "Who goes there?" though the voice was younger, he could still recognize it in the older and sharper voice of his father in his present day.

Eragon resisted the urge to merely ignore his father. It was not as if he could not wander near the stream if he wanted to. Brom had no right to tell him what to do nor demand answers from him even if it was a mere introduction. He pushed the urge away, however, as he remembered the grief and betrayal that his father was going through. Eventually, Eragon answered him. "Eragon."

His tensed posture relaxed slightly and his hand moved away from the pommel of his sword. Having half the mind to leave Brom where he was sitting and return to the camp, Eragon paused. A part of him did not want to deal with his younger father. It would be easier if he did not approach him nor share his sympathies with the young Brom. But he knew just how much his father was grieving, perhaps even more so than Eragon was. While Eragon was separated from Saphira, he knew that in time he would be reunited with her. But for Brom, his dragon—his Saphira—was gone. In that one moment of understanding, Eragon found himself walking forward.

"You must be Brom," said Eragon knowing fully well that the angry man before him was indeed Brom. How odd it was to stare at his young father who did not know who he was. He watched as Brom made his way to his feet turning about to stare at Eragon. When blue eyes met his, he was not surprised to see a lack of recognition in the eyes that Ella had inherited when she was born. What was surprising was how much it cut him to the quick that the man—his very father—did not recognize his own son. Though Eragon appeared more elvish now, he had thought that in his features a part of his father might show. But it was apparent that was not so for Brom continued to stare at him as if he were a stranger.

His eyes darted to Brisingr which rested against Eragon's hip and Vrangr which was strapped to his back and instantly he darted forward. "Where did you get those swords?" he asked, his words biting and short. Eragon furrowed his brow as he let Brom's words wash over him. Was he speaking of Vrangr and Brisingr?

"You speak of my swords I believe?" asked Eragon trying to make head of such a situation. He was still reeling from the fact that currently he was speaking to his younger father who did not know who he was and was pinning him with such a stare that Eragon would even go as far as to say that it made him uncomfortable.

"Do you think I am speaking of my swords?" asked Brom looking rather close to rolling his eyes. Eragon stared at him near affronted by his attitude. This angry man was his father? The very same man whom his mother had fallen in love with? He stared at his father for a long moment and fought the urge to snap back at him. But he reminded himself once more that this man was near crazed from the loss of his dragon. Losing Saphira and Arya as well as his family had driven Eragon to plead with Alagaësia for a second chance, he could only sympathize as to how Brom was faring. "Of course I am speaking of your swords."

Ignoring the obvious tone of his voice, Eragon gestured to Vrangr and Brisingr, "I made this one," said Eragon gesturing to Brisingr watching as Brom's eyes widen in surprise and astonishment. It was true, while Rhunön had used his body as a medium to forge the blade; in essence it was Eragon who _actually _forged the blade of Brisingr. Then he gestured to Vrangr, "And this one was gifted to me…by a close friend." He couldn't very well say that Arya had forged him Vrangr. It would lead to too many questions that he did not want to answer.

Instead, he merely watched as Brom's face fell. Observing him for a moment, he blinked when realization came to him that Brom was hoping that perhaps one of Eragon's swords was his that he had lost. Undbitr he remembered the name of the sword to be. Brom faltered and he saw as the light left his eyes leaving behind a tremendous sorrow. He then turned and made his way back to the bank. Eragon blinked and unbidden by him, his feet carried him to Brom's side and he sat down beside the man. A long moment passed between them and he was unsure of what to say before Brom spoke quietly.

"It is not so much the sword that bothers me but rather its meaning," said Brom quietly his eyes flickering to Brisingr and Eragon could read the clear longing in his eyes. Unsure of what to do but certain of his need to comfort Brom, Eragon slid Brisingr from his waist and handed the sword to Brom to study. Hopefully, he would not comment on how the blade was thinner than most Riders sword at this moment in time and how it was sharper at the end so that it could easily sink through armor in Eragon's time. He watched as Brom took Brisingr in his hand, his eyes studying the deep and rich sapphire of the scabbard before he pulled the sword from its sheath with a silent hiss, his eyes widening at the beauty of the blade.

As he observed Brom studying Brisingr, the flash of longing in his eyes seemed to intensify. Then he remembered his words. _It is not so much the sword that bothers me but rather its meaning. _Every Riders blade was forged so that the hue of the blade matched the hue of their dragon. While Brisingr and Vrangr were representations of Saphira, Undbitr was a physical representation of Brom's Saphira. A deep sadness pervaded him at the thought of his father's loss. He had lost Saphira and his sword. The only connection he had to his dragon was his gedwëy ignasia which Eragon glimpsed on his right palm. His eyes flickered to his own right palm.

_We are more similar than I thought us to be, _thought Eragon his eyes never leaving Brom as he continued to stare at Brisingr as if trying to ingrain in his mind the memory of its color. After a moment, he sheathed Brisingr and returned the sword to him.

"It is a beautiful sword," he said quietly. "Your dragon…must have been as beautiful as your blades."

"She is more beautiful," Eragon replied thinking of Saphira, the pain that came with her memory aching within him. "Much more beautiful than my swords could give meaning to." And he meant it. As much as Brisingr and Vrangr represented Saphira, they could never match her true beauty. Saphira would have no doubt been flattered by his thoughts but she wasn't here to share in his mind and emotions anymore.

"What happened to her?" Brom asked quietly, his blue eyes fixed on the stream.

_It isn't what happened to her, but what happened to me, _thought Eragon in the lonely confines of his mind. It was odd not to have his connection with Saphira anymore, not mentally at least. It was hard to imagine that he had been _dead _and it was only Alagaësia's mercy that saved him. He thought about the world for a moment and how it appeared to him. Was this really his Alagaësia? Was this reality? Or was he still dead but he did not simply know anymore? _Death, the greatest adventure of all…one that I did not wish to undertake. _

"Galbatorix," said Eragon simply. His answer appeared to be enough for Brom for the man nodded. After a long moment of silence once more, he spoke. "And what of your dragon?"

"She was killed in the fighting at Doru Araeba," Brom's jaws clenched and Eragon could tell that he was struggling within himself for words. His earlier rage seemed to have returned to him and he could see him struggling to try and restrain his emotions. Feeling as if he was intruding on a personal moment, Eragon darted his eyes away back upstream. The doe that had been drinking from the water had gone leaving merely him and Brom. _I never knew that silence could be so loud. _

"Will you seek revenge?" asked Eragon quietly knowing fully well that Brom would devote his entire life to creating methods and strategies to bring Morzan to his grave. He was going to extract vengeance from all of the Forsworn—that was his legacy. At least until he met his mother, Selena. Love would be enough to change him from the raging man he was to the wise and knowledge father he was going to be. _Another trait we share, _thought Eragon wryly. While Selena had invoked change in Brom, Arya had invoked change in Eragon.

"That is the only way left for Riders," said Brom with a hard voice as he turned his blue eyes to Eragon. "You and I are the only Riders left apart from…" He stopped faltering and Eragon knew that Brom was about to mention Oromis and Glaedr but he did not seem to trust in Eragon fully or maybe he did not trust in himself to speak the truth about their master. A second passed and then his determined expression had returned to his face. "It is our duty to avenge what was lost—our dragons, our Order, and our homes. What Galbatorix and his servants did was unforgivable and never—as long as I shall live and even in death itself—never shall I forgive them."

Eragon nodded. Though it seemed an unhealthy obsession, as long as it gave him a sense of purpose he was not going to deny Brom his thirst for revenge. He understood the feeling well enough, he could even empathize with Brom on a certain level. Whenever there was a purpose, it was always much easier to control one's rage.

"And what will you do?" Brom asked turning to Eragon.

"I would like to fight against Galbatorix," said Eragon as Brom grunted in approval, he paved on. "However, for the meantime I would like to seek asylum within Du Weldenvarden."

Instantly, the earlier approval was gone and instead Brom looked at him outraged. Rather than flinching away, Eragon held his stare waiting for him to burst with indignation at the fact that a Rider would merely stand by and let the traitor to their Order do as he pleased. "You would stow away while Galbatorix seeks to control Alagaësia? You will not avenge your dragon?"

"We must bid our time," said Eragon refusing to neither budge nor fall to anger at how Brom was speaking to him currently. Had this been any other time, he would have snapped back at his father.

"We must strike while the iron is hot!"

"Which can lead to reckless and irrevocable results."

"Which can lead to a way for us to fight Galbatorix! The longer we let him do as he pleases, the stronger he shall become and by then we will never have another opportunity," said Brom adamantly, a raging inferno in his piercing blue eyes. When Eragon made no move to answer him, he made to his feet. Then he said in a harsh voice, "Do what you will but know this, I will not relent."

He then turned and left making his way back to the camp leaving Eragon to sit by the stream deep in thought. To think that the Brom who had just left and the one who had fathered him were the same person. It was almost unbelievable. Almost. Leaning back onto his hands, he sighed as he stared up at the sky above him, taking in cloudless blue. "What am I to do Saphira?" whispered Eragon feeling lost.

In truth, he did not like the idea of waiting but that was all he could do. If he became too involved at the moment it could end up jeopardizing the entire struggle against Galbatorix. He needed to wait for Brom—in all of his rage—to form the Varden. Then when Weldon took command, he would be able to offer his assistance without fear of the entire history since the fall of the Riders deviating radically. Waiting always made him restless and when he was restless he was impatient. It was a flaw in his character but he could not change that particular aspect of him.

_Would I change? _

He knew his true name was still as it was but he couldn't help but wonder if the events in this time would propel his name into changing. He did not want his true name to change. For if it changed, then that meant that the Eragon in the future never really existed and that thought alone was enough to crush him. _Who am I? _

Sighing once more, he merely sat there by the stream for an unknown amount of hours trying to think of what was to become of his life. What would he do? He had thought that he could simply wait until the opportune time to aid in the fighting. But what would he do during the time he waited? He did not like idly sitting by while the world passed him by. Then there was also the problem of Arya. What would he do regarding the elf princess that in his future was his mate, his soul bond? A part of him wanted to seek her out and tell her how much he cared, how much she meant to him. But another part of him knew that it was folly to do so. He could not seek Arya out no matter how much his feelings meant. He could only wait and see if fate would bring her to him. It had brought her to him in his time, he could only pray that it would spare his ardent feelings and bring her to him once more.

At the thought of depending on fate Eragon chuckled darkly.

_What are we but mere pawns in this game called fate? _

Was it his fate to die? Was it his fate to go back in time? Or was it his own selfishness that had driven him here? If he had accepted his fate and had died, there would have been no need to fear about the outcome of the war to come. His life was a small price to pay for the century of fighting—of struggling to their very last breath—against Galbatorix. And he had thrown at all away for more _time _with his loved ones, for another chance. Leaning forward, Eragon blinked trying to keep his expression from becoming twisted in anguish as he passed a hand over his face. If Brom came back, he did not want him to see him in such a state.

The greed of one man can destroy a lifetime of effort.

He now understood the meaning to that particular phrase. He had never thought himself to be greedy, spoilt perhaps but never greedy. He hated himself because in that one moment he was the man that was greedy. He was the man that had thrown away all the sacrifices, all of their efforts for a near century so that he could live again. Even if the events that spanned from the fall of the Riders up to his present time did not occur yet, it did not mean they did not transpire for Eragon. In his life, Ajihad had died when he returned from routing the Urgals. Hrothgar was killed by Jeremiah. Fäolin and Glenwing were slain by Durza and the Urgals that had ambushed them. Years upon years of sacrifice and they had finally won. They had defeated Galbatorix and it was his desire to live again that had undone the future and brought forth a past that was tragic, sorrowful, and dark.

_This is the burden of my decision. _

He had wanted this, he had pleaded for it and now it was his. Alagaësia gave him the power of knowledge and allowed him to play a role close to that of a god's. He had a hundred years' worth of knowledge to fight against Galbatorix with. He knew of events that have yet to happen and he could change the future. He could do a task that not even the greatest sages could ever do. But to do so, would he in turn destroy his future? He thought about it for a moment. Would his mother exist sixty years from now? Would Murtagh be born? Would he be born?

And even if they were born, he knew deep down, that they would not be the same people from his memories. Arya would not be herself. He had already prevented her father's death and therefore effectively destroyed one of her greatest motivation in life. A choked sound escaped him as he thought of the Arya in this time and the one that he knew and loved. Already a great piece of her was chipping away, falling to nothingness. In his mind, he heard her voice as she spoke to him. Even if it was a mere memory in his mind, it was nothing in this time for it did not happen and it never would.

_He devoted his entire life to our cause, always valiant, always willing. But that day that I heard of his fall by Galbatorix, it changed my entire life. My mother was left to rule our people while I… _

He clenched his jaw as the Arya in his memories continued to speak no more than a whisper of what she used to be now.

_Since I carried Thorn's egg, I had always wished to become a dragon rider to avenge my father and to protect my people. It wasn't until Eridor hatched for me that my dream became reality._

It was as if he had killed her. The Arya, whom he knew, so devoted to her people and late father was gone. She would no longer tell him that everything she had done for the better part of a century was fueled by her desire to seek justice for King Evandar. Knowing, simply knowing that another Arya existed and yet was unable to flourish because of his actions made him want to yell out in frustration. It made him want to destroy something. It made him want to hate himself. This was his sin for asking for a second chance. He was going to destroy the world that he knew to recreate another one. And in it, he was going to destroy the existence of those he came to know and love. He was going to keep them from becoming the people they should be, he was going to warp their lives with his decisions.

_This is my sin to bear. _

His eyes stinging with his grief, a shaky breath escaped him and he fought hard to keep his composure. He did not want to give way now. He did not want to mourn. Could he mourn for something that no longer existed? He thought of Saphira, Arya, his mother and father, Murtagh, Nasuada, and so many others whom he was going to possibly change to the point that they would no longer resemble the people he knew. Then he thought of himself. Was he going to change? Was this Eragon going to exist once he was reborn? The thought of not being who he was—of losing himself once more frightened him but he could not continue to be selfish. If he was altering the lives of others, it was only fair retribution that his life was also altered that this Eragon like his Arya no longer existed in this timeline.

A brief silence washed over him and unable to help himself, he murmured his true name. A tremor ran through his body at the sound of his name and profuse relief pervaded his body. He was still him. His relief only lasted momentarily before another name slipped from between his lips. In his heart he recognized the name and he could feel the part of Arya within him resonate to it but otherwise the world remained still and silent. Unbidden by him a tear escaped his eyes as he thought of Arya's true name. It was still her true name, it was the true name of the Arya from his time and as he promised her, he would forever cherish and protect it for it was her name.

But that was the only promise he could keep to her amongst the many that he had told her. He had promised that one day they would visit Vroengard, that they would search the tunnels of Farthen Dûr for the flower that she spoke of, that they would have a future together after the war. _Broken promises, that is what they are. _

Eragon did not know how long it was that he sat there by the stream but he could not find it in himself to move. If he returned to the camp now, he would surely be unable to keep his composure especially if he saw King Evandar once more for the king would only remind him of the sin that he had committed. He would remind him that he, Eragon Shadeslayer, had changed the past and consequently the future with it as well. It was not until night was beginning to fall did Eragon force himself to his feet.

He could not sit there and wallow in his sorrow any longer. If he did, he would go mad with grief. For now, he would lock away his emotions for a later time. He would mourn over his loss after things had been said and done. Sitting there and drowning in his own self-pity would surely have caused Saphira to become irritated at him. He was stronger than that. At least he would like to think himself strong. Turning away from the stream, he began to make his way back towards the camp. Before he was fully encircled by the large pine trees, Eragon turned his head back to stare at the peaceful clearing.

"I'm sorry."

It was not directed towards anyone but his feelings behind the apology were sincere. He meant those two words with every fiber in his being and could only hope that those it was meant for understood. Without another glance back, he turned and continued forward retracing his footsteps through the darkening forest. If it weren't for his keen sight, he would have lost his way. Glad that he had undergone several transformations in his lifetime, Eragon easily maneuvered about the trees as if the sun was shining down on him rather than the dark night blanketing him.

Feeling calmer than he did earlier while he was thinking by the stream, he was confident that he would be able to continued playing the façade of a Rider who had lost his dragon to Galbatorix. It was ironic to think that he had finally managed to undo the puzzle that surrounded his identity and yet he could not live as who he was. He had learned who he was and understood himself more than anything back at Vroengard and now he could not live as himself. He would have to live in hiding and behind a mask until time righted itself or until he righted time, whichever came first.

As he neared the camp, he passed two guards on patrol and nodded to them. They did not make anything unusual out of his late return to the camp but merely inclined their heads at him to acknowledge his presence. He was not sure what unsettled him more: the elves being distant or the elves being familiar. Either way, he was going to have to live in their presence for some time now. He did not know what he was going to make of the time he spent in Ellesméra. He could only hope that his lack of eloquence and his temperament did not show through.

By the time he reached camp, night had fallen and the only light that pervade the darkness were from the flameless lanterns that the elves had hung up. Making his way to the provisions tent, Eragon had fetched himself an apple to eat. Constantly thinking and worrying had made him hunger for food. Thanking the elf who handed him the green apple, he turned the fruit in his hand a few times before taking a bite out of it, crunching it between his teeth.

Not wanting to linger underneath watchful eyes, he made his way back to his tent that the elves had once more generously offered him. As he made his way between the tents, he continued to crunch on his apple glad that he had something for his teeth to bite down on. He was unsure whether or not his continual grinding of his teeth would be beneficial. By the time he reached his tent with little incidents on the way, Eragon was surprised at the sight of a young man with chestnut hair standing near the entrance. Brom was waiting by the tent, his arms folded across his chest.

Cautious of what Brom could possibly want with him, Eragon tentatively made his way forward. If he was here to argue with him more he would take to the winds and make way for another location to sleep that night. But as it was, Brom turned at his approach and instantly chagrin filled his features.

"Is something the matter?" asked Eragon treading lightly on unknown waters.

"No," said Brom with a shake of his head. Eragon saw his fingers twitch but otherwise Brom remained still seemingly struggling with himself. It wasn't until some time had passed did Brom speak. "I want to merely apologize for my outburst earlier…it was rude and unbecoming of me."

"No matter," said Eragon not holding his anger to him. "You have a right to your anger."

"As do you," said Brom motioning to Eragon's right hand. Belatedly Eragon realized he was motion to his gedwëy ignasia. "We all deal with our grief differently and I had no right to think little of you because you decided to venture a different path than I. It just reminded me that I still have much to learn."

"You will in time no doubt," said Eragon as he took another bite of his apple. He searched for words to say. He had never been apt at speaking of his own feelings to others apart from Arya and Saphira and occasionally his mother. His relationship with his father had become better with time but it was still strange territory. What was a son supposed to say to his young father who at the time was not even his father? Eventually he settled for advice rather than personal feelings. "Whatever you do Brom, just remember that at times a cleared mind is much more useful than one clouded with anger." He tapped his temple with the forefinger of his free hand.

"I will remember your words," he paused looking like he wanted to say more but instead he said, "Well, it is late and we have to rise early to continue our travel back to Ellesméra."

Bidding Brom a peaceful rest, Eragon stood to the side as his father made to pass him but as he did so a strange urge in Eragon caused him to turn and call out to him. "Brom," the man turned to him with a questioning look. "Your dragon…she was no doubt beautiful."

An expression of deep anguish crossed his face only to be replaced a spilt second later by a sad smile. "Aye that she was."

With that said, he watched as Brom continued on his way weaving in and out between the tents until his figure disappeared from sight. Sparing another long look in the direction he left, Eragon sighed and took another bite out from his apple before he ducked inside his tent to rest. He had done enough for one day.

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**There's plenty of contemplation and such in this chapter but I felt as if it was necessary for laying out the entire time travel plot. I've read a few time travel FFs and the majority (not to say all) seem to have this view of time travel as 'if we can go back and fix time for the better, it's worth a shot' type theme (not to say that it's wrong or anything). But in this story since it's a spin-off of RL, Eragon as the one who is time traveling weighs in more on his sudden burdens that comes from his decision to go back into time. I think what I'm trying to get across is that people often think of time traveling (strictly in the past) as a way to change things when it's more of a way to undo them. Anyone catch my drift? In this chapter, I just wanted to show that time traveling to Eragon is more than merely making things better. As much as it is a miracle, it is also a burden. It goes along with the concept of sacrificing one thing for another. So that's what I wanted to say here. **

**Mind blowing revelation (at least to me): I was searching through CP Q&A and all that stuff and wikia to try and construct the timeline as best as I could and long story short, I came across this one online Q&A that CP had for his readers and in it, he said that Arya and Fäolin were indeed in a romantic relationship (as in bg/gf)! I was mind blown. I've always thought their relationship was those of mere good friends and I never actually read it being confirmed that they were more until now! It was an OMG moment for me and I could barely write. I was just too fazed out at the moment. It was unbelievable. I guess that leaves more options for me in this story...**

**Anyways apart from this tremendous A/N, I hope to see you all soon! **


	4. Chapter 4

**And so we have chapter 4. Once again, this story is just flowing through the beginning and after a few more chapters it'll begin to pick up pace. A history is oftentimes needed to given an effective story to the readers you know? Anyways, there's not much I want to say here so I'll just let you all read. R&R everyone! **

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Even in a century the forest had not changed much thought Eragon as he stared about him as they walked deeper into the heart Du Weldenvarden. It was just as he remembered when he first visited Du Weldenvarden back in his present time. The trees were thicker and taller than those near the outskirts of the forest. Not only were they tremendous in stature, but they were spread farther apart as well to accommodate the increased span of their branches. He remembered vividly watching as Saphira easily maneuvered herself about the trees looking as if she was as at home as she was in the sky.

Back then when he was first visiting Ellesméra he was too overcome with his worry to take in the scenery as they neared the elven capital. Now, however, with a lack of something better to do he was able to fully appreciate the solemn beauty of his surroundings. The dark emerald leaves called out to him and reminded him so swiftly and painfully of eyes that held the same hue but darker. The forest truly was stagnant. It was isolated from the flow of time and had remained unchanged in the century that was to come and pass. While the rest of Alagaësia underwent the turmoil that accompanied Galbatorix's rule, Du Weldenvarden—particularly Ellesméra—would remain as they were, untouched and unchanging.

Turning his head to stare forward, Eragon watched as in the late afternoon, the gloom about them lifted to reveal an elf standing before them, sheathed in a brilliant ray of light that slanted down from the ceiling. He was garbed in flowing robes, with a circlet of silver upon his brow. His face was old, noble, and serene. Immediately, Eragon felt himself tense as he found himself placed under the scrutiny of Gilderien the Wise. Would the elf allow him passage into Ellesméra or would he turn him away? He waited watching as the elf's eyes flickered to his right hand before they returned to King Evandar who stood at the head of the procession.

A moment passed and then the path was clear as Gilderien the Wise closed his eyes and spread his arms in a gesture of welcome. Glad that he was not denied entrance into Ellesméra, Eragon followed behind the other elves as they trailed closely behind Evandar. As he walked, he caught sight of Brom in the crowd but did not call out to him. A part of him did not know what else to do when it pertained to his father. Instead, he merely resigned himself to observing Brom at a distance.

They parted about the elf—the guardian of Ellesméra—like water parting at the base of a weathered boulder and when the last of their company had passed, he straightened and as Eragon remembered, clasped his hands and vanished as the light that illuminated him ceased to exist. It gave him a strange comfort though, seeing Gilderien the Wise once more and knowing that even a hundred years from now the elf would reappear to guard the entrance to Ellesméra. There was at least one constant in time.

As they continued deeper, he began to pick out the tell-tale signs of their nearing to Ellesméra. With his keen eyes, he could easily pick out the soft paths in the grass laid with all types of flowers from bluebells to lilies. A quarter mile in was when the world shifted about him and once again rather than standing amidst large pine trees, he was standing in between tall houses built directly from the wood of the pine trees.

Slowly, one by one those who remained behind during the fighting appeared and Eragon watched as mates, family, and friends were reunited. Watching them formed the dull ache in his chest that he was trying to acquaint himself with—to familiarize himself with—so that it hurt less each time it swept over him. It was foolish of him to try though for he knew that no matter how much time passed, the pain of his decision would still pierce him as quickly and as harshly as it did the first time. It would be the burden he would carry until his death and even then perhaps beyond death. Turning his eyes forward, he froze on the spot as he spotted King Evandar before the company separated from the other elves. There was a tender expression on the king's face, his stern features giving way.

And the recipient of such a look was striding towards him, though she did not wear the diamond diadem as she did in his time, Islanzadí Dröttning—no, she was Islanzadí Dröttningu for she was queen no longer—appeared as she did in his own time. Like the other elven maidens, she possessed the ethereal beauty of her race but she like her mate stood apart from the others. Proud and imperious just as he knew her to be but there was a difference to this Islanzadí. There was a tenderness to her and Eragon watched she glided forward dressed in a beautiful attire of dark emerald to King Evandar.

When she reached him, her hands came forward and she took him by the arms. He saw her lips move but did not hear what it was that she said for all about Eragon, the other elves were conversing with their reunited and they were all too busy to give any attention to their king. Or perhaps they were giving their monarch a moment of privacy as he was returned to his family. When both of their foreheads touched, Eragon diverted his eyes believing that he had seen enough. It would not do well to keep staring at the two of them. It would only serve to remind him that he knew of another princess, one that was beloved of him.

Though he did not understand Islanzadí, Eragon did know that she was no doubt a loving person. Elves he learned and understood did not practice in matrimony. They only persisted in relationships as long as their feelings lasted and since they were immortal, very few relationships lasted for as long as their lives played out. That was why when elves born children, it was the epitome of their feelings for each other. It was a promise that they would never part and their child was proof of that promise. Arya was born from Evandar and Islanzadí and as much as he did not agree with Queen Islanzadí's thoughts and processes at times he was always grateful to her for bringing Arya into the world even if it was not for him but rather as a result of her love for her mate. Arya, despite all the ironies of the world, was the proof that within Islanzadí was a person who loved just as fiercely and as passionately as the next.

Like he had been doing since he had awoken a century before his time, he could not help but compare the Islanzadí before him with the one in his memories. On occasion, he had only seen Islanzadí portray any sort of emotion when Arya was involved. And even then it seemed bittersweet and filled with longing as mother and daughter sought to move past their estranged relationship. The Islanzadí before him, however, was much different thought Eragon as he turned his eyes to the king and princess once more watching as Evandar pressed his lips to Islanzadí's temple and how her eyes closed at the gesture. She did not lose her mate in the Battle for Iliera. She would not become Islanzadí Dröttning, the ruler of the forest.

He had changed her as well and for a moment he did not want this Islanzadí. He wanted the imposing and regal queen that was reluctant to trust him with her daughter's happiness. He wanted the queen that knew him and his past and was hard pressed to place her faith in him. Though Islanzadí had originally opposed his union with Arya, he would not mind to see her once more for the Islanzadí in his time was proof, proof that he and Arya were mates despite her initial opposition. And now with her gone, it only served to reinforce the fact that his future was already beginning to tear at the seams.

"That is King Evandar's mate," he turned to find Brom beside him, his blue eyes focused on the pair a few yards away. "Islanzadí Dröttningu is the mother of King Evandar's child."

At the mention of Arya, Eragon felt himself tense and hoped that Brom did not notice. Instead he cleared his throat slightly turning his head to face Brom. "Have you met their child before?" asked Eragon trying not to sound too eager to know more about the Arya in this time.

Brom shook his head, "She was born a year before Galbatorix betrayed us," said Brom his expression hard. "I had heard that the celebrations were tremendous—that the entire forest had celebrated for an entire week in honor of her birth. She is still but a young child and do in part to her age, I believe King Evandar does not wish that she participate in the workings of the world as of yet."

"Yes, of course," muttered Eragon accepting Brom's words with little hesitation. He, himself, had thought as much. The two of them waited unsure of what to do amongst the elves before at long last King Evandar turned away from Islanzadí but he did not step away from his close proximity to the elven princess. Instead, he lifted his hand to be acknowledged and one by one the elves quieted, their earlier joy at being reunited with their loved ones diminishing to be replaced by sorrow.

He surveyed them with his piercing gray eyes before he spoke, his voice clear and echoing in his rich vibrato. "As much as it pains me to speak, I have no choice but to inform you all of the events that have occurred in Alagaësia…Galbatorix has won and despite all of our strength and magic, we were unable to defeat him and his Forsworn." At this, several elves seemed to bow their heads in shame as if unable to face the harsh truth that they were bested by a traitor. Beside him, he saw a gleam enter Brom's blue eyes. Evandar paused for a moment and then he continued. "That does not mean that will we surrender to him. However, I must ask of you all to keep within Du Weldenvarden and away from the outskirts of the forest. The times that are upon us are dark indeed and while we have managed to evade Galbatorix and his treachery temporarily we must always remain vigilante. There will be a time when our hopes shall be answered and for that time to come, we must wait. And wait we shall, patiently and ever watching and knowing of our enemy's movements and when the opportunity comes to us we shall strike and show Galbatorix that we are not a race to be trifled with."

There was a low murmur of voices to his words as the elves all spoke as one, their voices merging to create a melody that was akin to that of a river flowing softly. When they abated, King Evandar continued keeping his eyes about the elves that were gathered before him. "We have fought and despite our loss, we have fought well now it is time to wait. Like all battles—like all great wars—there is a time in which we have no choice but to wait—wait and bid our time."

He spoke more but Eragon did not pay attention to him, instead he found his eyes darting to Queen Islanzadí but she paid no heed to him, her eyes were focused solely on Evandar as he spoke and when he dismissed the elves to return to their lives before they had marched to battle with him, Eragon blinked unsure of where it was that he was meant to go. All about him, the elves began to disperse disappearing down different paths and into their homes. Eventually it was only Brom, Eragon, Evandar, and Islanzadí whom remained.

"Let us go," said Brom as he gestured to the king and his mate. Unsure of what to do, Eragon nodded and made his way to King Evandar. When they stopped before the king and princess, Brom turned to Islanzadí and greeted her as was demanded of him in the elven tradition. When he was finished, Eragon moved to do so as well fully knowing that Islanzadí had trained a sharp eye on him. When she straightened she was not looking at him with any sort of hostility but merely curiosity.

"And who might you be Shur'tugal?" she asked politely her eyes flickering to this right palm.

"Eragon, my lady," he answered her unsure of how else to address Islanzadí. He had never heard of Arya being called anything apart from her name and sometimes her title and could only hope that he could pass this off as a mere practice of manners in the human world. Islanzadí did not find anything strange of his response but merely inclined her head studying him with a startled look.

"He is the Rider who saved my life," said Evandar to Islanzadí. "As repayment of his deed, he will be staying as a guest of our house."

And to his surprise Islanzadí's emerald eyes turned to him and they shone with her gratitude. "Thank you for your service to our people and my family Eragon," her eyes darted to Evandar and they shared a look before they returned to Eragon. "I can only hope that your stay here in Ellesméra would be repayment enough for a deed that will forever be remembered by our people as well as myself."

"It is," said Eragon humbled.

"Let us go to the Tialdarí Hall," said Evandar motioning for Brom and Eragon to follow him. He took the lead with Islanzadí by his side and the two began to lead Brom and Eragon. As they followed, Evandar explained to them more about his family hall. "Tialdarí Hall is our family's ancestral buildings in the western part of Ellesméra." Eragon nodded. He remembered Arya telling him as much and he had been to the compound that was her family hall before. That was when he was once more struck with the thought that he was going to be living in close proximity to Arya. Was this fate in the workings? Whatever it was it was cruel for he knew that the Arya he would meet would not be his. She was but a child and even with time, she would grow to be a different Arya. Her past was going to be different and he was half afraid to even think of her personality.

The thought was erased from his mind when they stopped before a ribbed lancet arch—grown between two trees—which served as the entrance for a wide compound. It was Islanzadí who spoke rather than Evandar. In the ancient language, she chanted in her rich voice, "Root of tree, fruit of vine, let me pass by this blood of mine."

The two archway doors trembled and then swung outward, releasing five monarch butterflies that fluttered toward the dusky sky. Through the archway lay a vast flower garden that looked as pristine and natural as a wild meadow. The one element that betrayed artifice was the sheer variety of plants; many of the species were blooming out of season, or came from hotter or colder climates and would never have flourished without the elves' magic. Like when he was with Arya touring her hall, the scene was lit with the gemlike flameless lanterns, augmented by constellations of swirling fireflies.

The two of them followed Evandar and Islanzadí deeper into Tialdarí Hall, crossing the gardens as the four of them made their way to the scattered trees that soon thickened into a wall. The hall was warm and there was a sense of home and comfort to it but it still felt out of place to Eragon who was used to residing in Vrael's tree. He had lost that right in this time seeing as he was no longer a Rider. The shape of the hall was determined by the tree trunks, which on the inside of the hall had been stripped of their bark, polished, and rubbed with oil until the wood gleamed like amber. Regular gaps between the trunks acted as windows. It was not sight of the hall that moved him deeply but rather the scent of crushed pine needles that perfumed the air. Every time he breathed in the scent, it reminded him so much of Arya that he felt a sharp pang to his heart.

They were led through the hall until Evandar came to stop before a screen door. He motioned to it, turning to face Eragon. "This will be your quarters for as long as you shall stay within our hall, Eragon. From now on you shall be our guest and as such you are entitled to the hospitality that our house provides. If you ever find yourself in need of something do not hesitant to ask."

Eragon bowed to him. "You are too kind, Your Majesty," he murmured before straightening. Evandar merely nodded to him and after a few more exchanges, Eragon bid them farewell for the day before he left their company venturing into his new quarters closing the screen door behind him. It was like Arya's but it was not as spacious. The living room was still rather comfortable and there was a study to his left and a small bedroom to his right and connected to his bedroom was a door that led to the washroom. Glad for the time to himself, he unstrapped Vrangr from his back and slid Brisingr from its place on his left hip and placed both of his swords on the bed as he went to remove his armor. It had been a burden to travel while wearing the dented armor and he was only too glad to have it removed.

Tugging the final parts of his armor off, he stared at the silver attire that had been gifted to him before reaching out to take the beautiful helm in his hands. Arya had the helm forged for him to replace his horned one. It was another gift of hers to him. Running his hand over the gold lining and the elegant carvings in the helm, he paused staring at the helm before his eyes wandered to Vrangr which laid on his bed. Setting the helm down, he reached for his sword to pick up and study. Then with a flourish of his hand drew the blade from its sheath to admire it.

Arya had forged the blade of Vrangr for him giving the sword more meaning then it could ever have. While Brisingr represented the bond between he and Saphira, Vrangr represented his life, his conflict with Asura, and Arya's devotion to him. He turned the blade about in his hand. Vrangr began to pulse with life thirsting for the blood that it so desired. It was a beautiful sword thought Eragon as he reached forward to glide a single finger down the iridescent blade. But it was not made to be a sword that was meant to kill mercilessly. It was forged so that he could use it to protect while Brisingr was used to destroy. They were both two halves of one whole. He had made a promise to Queen Islanzadí in which he would use Vrangr not for himself but for Arya and in this time that promise still held weight in his heart.

Sheathing Vrangr, he returned the sword to the bed and made his way to the bathroom to wash up. Days of traveling made him rather filthy and he did not like the feeling. The fact that he was also now staying with the elves made him more self-aware of his need to stay clean. The wash was refreshing to say at least. It gave him a moment to clear his mind and think back on the past days. No one questioned him nor his origins. He had the king's trust and with it theirs. Everyone else seemed unbothered by his presence. He had given Evandar his oath to not bring harm to the elves and trouble their lifestyle and had therefore ensured a safe haven for himself.

Amongst the few days he'd spent with the elves and Brom, he had tried to glean as much information as he could about the current situation. As he had remembered through his readings and through his lessons with Oromis, Galbatorix had managed to seize control of the western half of Alagaësia proclaiming the territory as now part of his Empire. His twelve remaining Forsworn had went from city to city to establish his reign. Iliera was renamed Urû'baen and in the confusion of it all, the new country of Surda was established by Orrin's ancestor, Lady Marelda. Soon, Brom was going to take advantage of the confusion and within a few years the Varden would be formed. As overwhelming as it was, Eragon was still slightly amazed that he was now part of history and he was witnessing it as well. Not only that but he _knew _of what was to come. It was burdening and yet empowering at the same time.

Once he was done with his bath, he exited the washroom to find a new pair of clothing waiting for him on his bedside table. On it was a note that told him that the clothes were for him to wear and it was a sign of hospitality. Thankful for the new clothing, he pulled on his tunic, letting the soft fabric caress his skin, and stepped into his breeches. Packing away his armor and dirty clothes into the corner, unsure of what to do with them, he went to sit on his bed transferring both of his blades to the ground. He was at a loss of what else to do at the moment. There was no need for him to do anything apart from wait and bid his time. A minute had barely passed and already he was starting to feel restless.

Then another minute passed as he drummed his finger on his right hand along his knee. And another minute passed and when he felt like he was going to go stir crazy, he stood and shoved his feet into the new boots that were provided for him also courtesy of Evandar's house. Strapping Brisingr to his waist, he decided to leave Vrangr within his room and made his way towards the exit. He would wander about Ellesméra and perhaps even visit the library so that he could read and study more on magic. Though he was strong and apt, it did not necessarily mean that he was a master of spells and such. He could use the time he spent in Ellesméra to practice and hone his strength.

With that thought in mind, he began to trace his way through the compound tempted to search out Arya's chambers. He knew where they were located but did not wish to risk it. It was not even her chambers yet doubted Eragon. Arya was still very young and was no doubt still living within her parents' quarters before she was old enough to be given her own. As he walked through the gardens, his eyes wandered from patch to patch searching for the patch of Black Morning Glories. His search was in vain though for not a patch of flowers existed and for a moment, Eragon felt relieved beyond imagination. What he did see, however, was a patch of white roses.

He paused for a moment staring at the roses, their meaning coming to him. While the Black Morning Glories represented Arya's relationship with Fäolin , a white rose represented his relationship with Arya. It was childish to compare the two of them but he could not help but do so as he stared at the roses. While Arya and Fäolin were close over the twenty years they had spent together, it was Eragon that she had given her heart and soul to and it was with that thought that he felt a sense of calm wash over him. He always had that fact to keep close to heart. With one final look at the white roses, he turned and left the gardens and instead exited Tialdarí Hall.

There was not much to do when he had no interest or hobby and when he had no one to spend his time with. Letting his feet carry him to any sort of destination that he could find, Eragon let himself wander through the forest. Ellesméra was much quieter than when he had come to visit for his training in his time. The elves were all withdrawn, resting after the Battle for Iliera and no doubt lamenting over what was loss. He did not know the Order nor any of the Riders but he could tell that the elves did and that they were wounded beyond all else at the great loss of such an age. A once peaceful and prosperous time was gone only to be replaced by a dark coming.

So much was loss and even though the events occurring were tragic and grievous, he could not help but feel detached from it all. He knew this was going to happen. He knew that the Order would no longer exist after the Fall so there was no need for him to mourn for something that was already lost to him. It would be pointless to do so. A part of him felt guilty that he was not affected by the events. It was saddening to see such things but the sadness was not his to bear for this time was not his. How ironic and yet how ignorant of him thought Eragon as he walked deeper into the eleven capital barely paying any heed to the thickness in trees as he wandered.

It wasn't until he was standing at the base of the Menoa Tree did he come to himself. He stared at the lone pine tree that stood in the middle of the clearing. No taller than the rest of its brethren, it was thicker than a hundred regular trees combined; in comparison, they looked as puny as windblown saplings. A blanket of roots radiated from the tree's massive trunk, covering the ground with bark-sheathed veins that made it seem as if the entire forest flowed out form the tree, as if it were the heart of Du Weldenvarden itself. The Menoa tree presided over the words like a benevolent matriarch, protecting its inhabitants under the shelter of her branches.

He stared up at the tree for a long moment drinking in its image. Like Gilderien the Wise, the Menoa tree was unchanged and unmarked by the passage of time. It was still the matriarch of the forest but there was one thing that he was curious about. Carefully making his way towards the tree and about its roots, he neared the spot he remembered standing on when he stood before the Menoa tree to request the brightsteel ore. Reaching out with his fingers, he pressed his hand against the ground trying to see if he could determine if the ore was still underneath her roots. But it was impossible. Unlike living things, he could not detect any difference in the ground except for the slight change in soil structure. Frowning, Eragon stood at a loss of what to do.

He wanted to do something. He wanted to help and fight. He wanted to find out how Alagaësia had managed to transport him a hundred years back in time with his knowledge, physical body, and swords. He wanted to see Arya. Once more Eragon bit his lips as he could only peg his thoughts for being greedy yet again. He was given this second chance and he only seemed to want for more. He was going to have to relinquish that train of thought. With a heavy heart, he made his way to the base of the Menoa tree and sat down on the crest of a huge root, twelve feet off the ground. He glanced at the tree. "What should I do Linnëa?"

The moment the words left his lips he cringed. Had he become so lonely that he had to resort to speak with the Menoa tree? And even if she _did _reply to him, it did not erase his past grudge against Linnëa for burying him alive even if she did give him the brightsteel eventually. Could she possibly understand how he felt? He thought about her for a moment and her story. She had killed her lover and had sung herself into the Menoa tree. One some level he could empathize with her but he highly doubted that he would do more than turn to grief if he were to ever see Arya with…

Eragon shook his head. He did not want to think of such morbid thoughts. Instead, he merely sat there trying to think of what to do with his life now. He could not simply just sit there and brood over his thoughts. Perhaps he could find a hobby or an art of interest to devote himself to like the elves did and maybe begin to read the many scrolls and texts within the library of Ellesméra. Just thinking of such a life made him restless. It sounded too lonely and purposeless. But that was all he was now, a Rider without a dragon, a person without a purpose.

It wasn't until late night that he returned to Tialdarí Hall and when he passed the patches of white roses to do so, he could not help but take in the beautiful flowers once more. Then unable to help himself, he gently removed the most beautiful flower from the flowerbed and took it with him to his chambers. When he was within his bedroom, he turned to the flower murmuring a spell underneath his breath. A minute passed and within his hand was a glass orb and embedded in it was the white rose, preserved in its blossom.

Now it would not die and though they were divided by time and death, he knew that in that moment his feelings for Arya would not wither away. He would preserve it just like the white rose within his hands. Time was now a new player in the game of fate but he refused to let its claws sink too deeply into his life.

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**There's one thing that I wanted to address in this A/N. I know plenty of you have been against the idea of Fäolin and Arya together even if it is for some short span of time but...there's a history to them that CP never fully explored and its too tempting of a chance to pass up. But we shall see what the future has in store for them. But have no fear, Eragon and Arya are definitely meant to be especially in this story! Also, I wanted to thank all the reviewers and their wonderful feedback! It just makes me more motivated to see this story through! I hope to see you all soon once more! Oh and Arya next chapter perhaps? **


	5. Chapter 5

**Well let's all consider this chapter a treat! I decided to post another chapter today since you all seem to be anxious in your waiting! Also, I know plenty of your are concerned about the story but have I ever failed to deliver a wonderful plot line? (I hope I haven't). So just follow this story through and if you still have concerns just review and I shall always answer as fast as I can. Apart from that, R&R! **

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Time passed by slowly during his stay in Ellesméra. Day in and day out, he found himself wandering the elven capital trying to find something that could capture his time. He had pondered visiting Oromis and Glaedr but did not want to risk his situation as of yet. Rather, Eragon planned to live out a few years with the elves before he even dare to approach the Crags of Tel'naeír. He did not want Oromis or Glaedr to find out who he was, not yet at least. The information of his time travel was still too fresh and he could not instantly seek to change history for the more he did the more he was sure that it would deviate from its original course too much for comfort.

On his second week in the elven capital, Eragon had found himself restless beyond all else. He did not see Brom often during his stay in Ellesméra and though he wanted to seek his young father out to speak with him to lessen the stark feeling of loneliness, Eragon was too prideful to ask and Brom was otherwise engaged. It seemed as if his father was making preparations to travel to Surda to incite a rebellion against the Empire. He would leave soon and create the Varden. He was going to dedicate his life to bringing about the fall of the Forsworn. And while he was pursuing his greatest passion, which was the death of Morzan, Eragon was going to spend his days doing nothing.

While he was wandering about Ellesméra in the past two weeks since he'd arrived, a small part of him had hoped that he would be able to glean sight of Arya. When he had met Arya, she was already cemented into who she was. She was wise, noble, and powerful just as Angela's fortune had described her. She was devoted to her people and family, devoted to the greater good of Alagaësia. Eridor had chosen her as his Rider, Murtagh had helped her fight a Shade and she became a Shadeslayer. The Arya he knew was Arya Dröttningu, Rider of Eridor and Shadeslayer. He had never gotten a chance to meet a younger Arya who was carefree, who could laugh and sing without the feeling of impending doom weighing down on her. And yet, he was fearful of doing so for it would only serve to reinforce that she was different from how he remembered her and he did not want to feel as if his memories with Arya—_his _Arya—were a farce. Keeping that thought close in mind, Eragon decided then that he would not seek her out despite how close they lived together at the moment. He would wait and see if she was going to appear to him and if she did, he was going to have to try his best to deal with the situation as deemed of him. Would he be shocked? Saddened? Or relieved that even if they were different, that Arya was still alive and well? That she was happy?

He shook the thoughts from his head. As much as he wanted to spend his time thinking of Arya, he could not waste away on his emotions. He knew that it would only serve to upset her if she had found out how he was spending his time. Feeling rather guilty to her, Eragon straightened as he continued through the tunnel of dogwood which was draped with creepers. Today would be the last of his wanderings. When he woke a day ago he had come to a conclusion that he would find a hobby to preoccupy himself with and perhaps even find it in himself to even enjoy.

Eventually the tunnel ended at an enclosed atrium of a house grown out of a ring of trees. An open walled hut occupied the center of the atrium, which sheltered a forge and an assortment of tools that all defined the trade of a blacksmith. His eyes turned to the elf woman that stood near the bellows. Rhunön held a pair of small tongs in a nest of molten coals, working bellows with her right hand. With uncanny speed, she pulled the tongs from the fire—revealing a ring of white-hot steel clamped in the pincers' jaws—looped the ring through the edge of an incomplete mail corselet hung over the anvil, gasped a hammer, and welded shut the open ends of the ring with a blow and a burst of sparks.

Had she been working on a corselet when he first visited her as well?

Very careful not to touch any of her works, Eragon inched forward to speak to her. He touched his two lips in a sign of respect. "Atra esterní ono thelduin, Rhunön-elda."

She turned to face him, her neck and cheek lit from underneath by the coals' bloody light. Like taut wires embedded in her skin, her face was scribed with a delicate pattern of lines. But her inspection of Eragon only lasted for a few seconds before her eyes flickered to Brisingr and Vrangr, widening in surprise. He saw a flash of emotion in her eyes and he could tell that she was trying to remember if she had forged the swords that he carried. He knew that she could recognize her work but she had no memory of forging such blades. Eventually, she turned her eyes back to Eragon with a frown, her brows slanted as she lowered the tongs in her hand to the anvil. Then she banked the coals and covered them with a grated lid.

"Who are you?" asked Rhunön, her voice guttering and raspy unlike any other elf's. Eragon had to resist the urge to smile; Rhunön was another constant in time. Like always she was as brusque as ever and he was glad to see her. He remembered the first time he'd met her and how she thought Arya to be dead having not left her home for three years. Time meant nothing to her, only her work did.

"My name is Eragon," he answered her question watching as the crease in her brows deepened. Rhunön was not as simple minded as one would take the elf smith for. Though she was wholly devoted to her work, he knew that she understood the workings of the world well enough. He could tell that she was wondering if another smith had managed to ply the secrets of her craft to their own forge. Eragon knew, for he had forged the blade of Brisingr with her help, how to forge a Rider's blade albeit with more magic than what Rhunön would use. "I came to seek out the blacksmith that is well known in all of Du Weldenvarden."

"And what need of me do you have to come and seek me out?" she asked, her eyes focused intently on Eragon but he could tell that she was very curious about Vrangr and Brisingr. It would be hard to continue the conversation knowing that Rhunön was preoccupied with his swords. And so as repayment to her for her help a century to come, he unstrapped Vrangr from his back and slid Brisingr from his waist placing both swords before her on her anvil.

She said nothing as she reached out to take Brisingr in her hands with a look of wonder on her face. She caressed the dark azure sheath, lingered on the black symbol etched into it, and glided her hand over the dark wooden hilt of the sword. He could tell that she was comparing the blade to her previous works trying to understand how it was that he possessed two Rider's swords. Then Rhunön wrapped her fingers around the handle and drew the sword with all the authority of a warrior. Eragon watched not in the least bit alarmed as she began to test his blade. He could see a sense of awe in Rhunön's expression as she stared down the fine edges of his sword, taking in the webs of pale veins that ran throughout the blade causing it to shimmer in the slightest light. After bending the blade until the sides touched flattened against each other, Rhunön swung Brisingr over her head and brought it down upon the tongs on her anvil, slicing them in half as a pure note echoed through the atrium fading into silence a second later.

Her eyes darted to him as she held Brisingr in her hands, questioning but not asking directly with her voice. Knowing what it was that she was asking of him, Eragon spoke, "Brisingr is its name," instantly, his sword flared to life with a rush of wind as it erupted into sapphire flames. Immediately, he was reminded of Saphira and was a second belated in letting out the flames.

Rhunön stared at him with a scowl. "What was the purpose of setting flames to your sword?"

"I did not mean to intentionally," said Eragon and Rhunön was forced to acknowledge that he did not for he spoke in the ancient language. "Whenever I speak the name of my swords, they react. I apologize if I insulted or offended you in any way Rhunön-elda."

Her scowl faded away to leave behind a thoughtful and interested expression as she took in the iridescent blade before her. Then with a loud voice, she exclaimed, "Brisingr!" his sword hummed silently but did not respond to her. If anything her interest in Brisingr seemed to heighten as she flourished the sword in her hand. "Where did you come across such a sword?"

"I forged it myself," said Eragon surprising her once more. She stared at him in shock and he was not the least bit insulted with her incredulous and disbelieving expression. He was young by their standards and the level of mastery it required to forge a blade such as Brisingr was more than his skills could offer. He could tell that she was trying to see if he was speaking falsely but once more the ancient language had allowed him to utter those words. _I forged the blade of Brisingr with your help, _Eragon amended in his mind as he watched Rhunön set Brisingr down on her anvil beside its scabbard taking in the elvish glyph for fire on both of them.

Her attention then turned to Vrangr which was the exact copy of Brisingr apart from the elvish glyph on it that represented _wandering_ and not _fire_. With the same reverence as she displayed when handling Brisingr, she slid Vrangr from it sheath admiring the deadly gleam the blue blade emitted. There was a difference to Brisingr and Vrangr. While Brisingr appeared to glow with light, Vrangr pulsed with darkness. "And what is the name of this blade?"

"Vrangr."

Unlike Brisingr, Vrangr did not ignite into flames but rather the blade glowed with a violet edge as if pulsing with life. Reaching forward for one half of the tongs that Rhunön had cut cleanly in half, Eragon lifted the metal to the violet edge. The moment it made contact with Vrangr, the metal of the tongs began to metal away—eaten away into nothingness. Eventually when only a small part of the half remained, Eragon lowered his hand tossing the useless metal onto the anvil as Rhunön continued to stare at Vrangr, entranced.

"Your blade…it is as if it is almost _alive,_" Rhunön commented. Eragon nodded and with the other half of the tongs pierce his skin until he drew blood. Then he held his hand over Vrangr watching as his crimson blood fell onto the sapphire blade. The drops of blood remained on the surface of the iridescent blade for a few seconds before Vrangr glowed once more and both he and Rhunön watched as Vrangr absorbed the blood, the violet edge growing brighter as a tremor coursed through the sword. Pulling his hand away, he watched as a green mist came to existence wrapping around the wound that he gave himself before healing it. Her magic was still able to heal his smaller wounds but not his larger ones thought Eragon as he stared at his hand in relief. He had the urge to slice his hand open once more to just feel Arya's magic heal him but did not. Instead, he turned his head back to Rhunön as she picked up Brisingr to hold beside Vrangr.

The swords began to resonate the closer Rhunön brought them together. He could tell that she was astounded by the tremors that ran through her arms as Vrangr and Brisingr shook in her hands. "They are bonded pairs," Eragon explained and if anything Rhunön's astonishment seemed to grow as she stared at the swords in her hands. "They will not yield to another master apart from me." _And Arya _thought Eragon but he dared not say so aloud.

She lowered Brisingr to the anvil and focused her eyes on Vrangr, deeply curious about the blade and its apparent demonic qualities. If she thought too much into it, she would no doubt be able to compare Vrangr's thirst for blood as a similar quality in a shade or a vengeful spirit. "And did you forge this blade as well?" asked Rhunön her eyes darting to him.

Eragon shook his head. "No, it was forged as a gift for me."

"A gift? And may I ask who forged it for you?"

He paused pressing his lips together as he thought about her question. Then he sighed inwardly to himself. "Someone important to me," said Eragon eventually. Rhunön must have sensed his reluctance to answer her question and to his relief she did not push him for more answers instead she stared at both of his swords.

"Du Brisingr Vrangr," she murmured to herself. _The Wandering Fire. _Her eyes flickered to him before she sheathed Vrangr and then in turn Brisingr, staring at both blades in wonder still. "You have beautiful blades Shur'tugal."

"I am a Shur'tugal no more," said Eragon as she frowned, understanding the meaning behind his words. Saphira was no longer his in this time and therefore he had no right to be called a Rider anymore. Seeing his silent grief, Rhunön did not speak but he saw a flash of understanding in her eyes and he knew that the elf smith empathized with him on some level. She had no doubt taken up the oath in which she refused to forge another weapon, giving up her life's work in the face of the tragedy her blades wrought under the hands of Galbatorix and his Forsworn. They had lost purpose in their lives and were trying their best to find a way to work about the years to come. While Rhunön still had many other choices in which to work her craft, Eragon was at a mere loss.

He reached forward and slid Brisingr into the belt at his waist, resting his sword on his left hip while he strapped Vrangr to his back. "I heard tale that you were the smith whom had forged all the Riders their blades."

She looked pained and he knew that the pain of Galbatorix's betrayal and the loss of all her life's work ate at her. Eventually she nodded and as fast as her sorrow came it was replaced with a biting anger. "My entire life I spent hammering swords such as yours out of ore. Then _he _came and he destroyed them. Centuries of effort obliterated in an instant. I do not know if any of my art exists save for his sword and his servants'."

"They do," said Eragon watching as she paused and he debated whether or not he should tell her that Galbatorix had horded all of her swords as trophies to amuse himself with. They were not used but rather only looked upon as a reminder of the many Riders whom he had bested. Seeing the glimmer in Rhunön's aged eyes, he made his decision. "Galbatorix has taken them for his own enjoyment but I can promise you Rhunön-elda, that your work—hundreds of them—have not been lost in the tide of battle."

If she was touched by his words she did not show it. Instead, she stared at him and he could see the slight change in her expression. She appeared to be renewed in spirit to know that her life's work had not been lost and Eragon in that one instance was glad that he could give Rhunön some sort of comfort. Rhunön, he realized as he stood in her forge before her, was rather lonely. She had no family and seemed not bothered by her lack of friends. But he was positive that even when she was devoting herself to her work that she felt lonely. Was this going to be his fate in Ellesméra? Would he be alone as he tried to find some sort of craft to devote himself to?

After a long moment, Eragon shook his head with a frown. He was not going to think like that yet again. He needed to pull himself together. Eventually, she too gathered her composure as she turned to him her eyes once more flickering to his swords before they returned to rest on his face, her usual scowl on her face. "Now if you have no more to say, I shall need to return to my work," she said quite rudely, turning away from him.

He fought a smile. Never before did he enjoy Rhunön's eccentricities more than he did now. After spending some company with other elves who were all so very polite and refined, he was refreshed by Rhunön's brusque and outright attitude and could only wonder that perhaps Arya saw the same novelty in the smith. There was a sense of comfort to know that Rhunön would not merely say something to say it and that she was always very forward and forthright with her thoughts.

"I came to you seeking a request," said Eragon causing her to turn back to him with a frown.

"If you came to me to ask that I use my skills in the forge for you than you are sorely mistaken," she said.

Eragon shook his head. Not backing down nor averting his eyes, he said in a determined voice, "I wish to learn under you, Rhunön-elda."

Her surprise at his words seemed to render her incapable of speaking for a few seconds before she rotated on the spot to face him once more. "I am afraid I can do little to teach you anymore than you know now. If you are capable of forging such a blade as Brisingr, there is not much else for you to learn. And even if I could teach you anymore, I will not want to. Apprenticeships are not of my liking."

"I had help when I forged Brisingr," said Eragon as he refused to budge from his spot.

"Even so I am afraid that I cannot," said Rhunön.

"May I ask your reason for not doing so?" asked Eragon stubbornly. He could tell that his motivation to learn underneath Rhunön surprised her. She had probably expected that the moment she turned him away, he would lose his will to ask her and would go seek out another smith within Ellesméra or Du Weldenvarden for the matter. But Eragon was going to show her just how stubborn he was and though Rhunön tried not to show it, he knew the aged elf had a kindness to her despite her overly outlandish attitude.

"I do not take apprentices," said Rhunön with a hard expression as if willing for Eragon to leave. "It will do you well to seek out another who can teach you the craft."

"I only wish to learn from the best," said Eragon as he kept his eyes focused on hers noticing how deep her dark irises were. They spoke of her years alive. If he remembered correctly, Oromis had once told him that Rhunön was older than the order of the Riders, that she had come before the pact with the dragons were made. In that instance as he stared into her eyes, he understood just how aged she was. "And you are the best smith there is in all of Du Weldenvarden."

"As pleasing as it is to hear your words," said Rhunön not the least bit moved even though Eragon did not mean to flatter her. He was only stating a fact that was acknowledged by every elf in the forest. "I shall not teach you."

"Then you must give me a better reason apart from not taking apprenticeships to persuade me to leave," said Eragon as her scowl deepened.

"Have you not heard me before?"

"I have," said Eragon as he went to walk about her forge studying her tools, making himself comfortable. He was going to be spending time with Rhunön after all. Though she refused to take him as an apprentice, he would not back down. He had managed to get her to forge a sword for him with Oromis's help despite her oath and now he was going to manage to ask her to take him as an apprentice. He was not like every other elf that might have gone to her seeking her out. She would not feel hindered by his presence of that he was sure.

"Then why do you insist on learning under me?" asked Rhunön, her mouth twisted not in distaste or displeasure, but rather in bemusement as if she could not make Eragon out. "I find it hard to believe that a Dragon Rider would be content to merely finding his way about a forge for his days to come."

"One is not a Rider without a dragon," said Eragon softly watching as Rhunön's expression came close to what appeared to be contrite. "I will not hinder your work Rhunön-elda but I wish to learn in your forge."

She stared at him for a long moment and he could see her contemplating his request. A minute passed and then she lifted her chin to observe him. "I can teach you but you need to be determined to learn. Those who do not want to learn will not be able to master the forge. But let me ask you this, what purpose will this serve you? This is my life's work, one that I do not relinquish easily for other matters. And if I were to take an apprentice, I will not do so without ascertaining for myself their views of my craft."

Eragon folded his arms over his chest as he pondered her question. He had a feeling that Rhunön would ask of him such a question. Had he not known her beforehand, he would have floundered on the spot. And his hesitancy would have given her the perfect excuse to turn him away without a second thought. Instead, he found his thought process and began to speak. "It is not so much how I view the forge but rather how I view my life in terms of your craft, Rhunön-elda. I want to recreate the margins of my reality. I want to break away what exists and recreate it into something better, something more fitting. I believe, that if it is anyone, you can teach me."

Rhunön did not speak as she listened to him and when he was done; her eyes flickered away from him and towards her anvil where the other half of her tongs remained. Then after a long moment of contemplation, she reached forward and gripped the metal in her hand before holding it out for him to take.

Eragon took the piece of metal somewhat confused as to the purpose behind her giving him the broken equipment. "Am I supposed to do something with it?"

"I want you to make me a new pair," said Rhunön seriously.

"Pardon?" asked Eragon in surprise at her request. She wanted him to make one for her in this moment? She scowled heavily at him as if irritated with his slow response to her request.

"If you wish to learn underneath me, I shall have to see your skills," said Rhunön. "Your first task, which I believe shall be simple enough for you, will be to make me a new pair of tongs. Can you do that, Eragon? Or shall you admit that you are not fit to learn as my apprentice?"

His expression tightening, Eragon merely narrowed his eyes at her accepting her challenge. She was asking for a pair of tongs and he was confident he could make it easily enough. Removing his swords and setting them against the wall of her forge, Eragon began to maneuver about the forge remembering where she placed all of her tools and whatnot. This should be easy enough.

"I do not want to see you use magic," said Rhunön with serious eyes as she observed him. "In order to master one's craft, one must always put forth effort of their own and not use a few words to satisfy their desires."

"Of course Rhunön-elda," murmured Eragon.

"And as my apprentice," said Rhunön in her raspy voice, "You shall refer to me as Master since in comparison to your skills that is what I am." Eragon nodded. It was the same when it came to guilds; the lower rank always had to use the title master with their higher authority. Despite his pride, he did not wish to cause her to change her mind. She gestured to her open walled forge. "Now what are you waiting for? Forge me a new pair of tongs and do so quick!"

_This will be simple work, _thought Eragon confidently. He had forged the blade of Brisingr and he was positive he could forge a measly pair of tongs for Rhunön. He made his way to the bellows forgoing gloves since he remembered how Rhunön frowned upon the idea that a smith would even bother to wear gloves which could hinder one's work and cause imperfections.

Two hours later, Eragon was sorely mistaken as he watched as Rhunön took the third pair of tongs that he had made to test. She held the pair in the nest of molten coal to test how well it would hold against the heat. A minute passed and she pulled the tongs out and he was glad to find the tool still intact. The earlier two had gave way in the heat but it seemed that he had done right with this third pair. Letting it cool, she began to tap it against the anvil trying to find any fault in it and when she was satisfied she nodded.

"I have learned enough of your skills," declared Rhunön.

"And what have you found?"

"None," said Rhunön raising a brow in his direction. "Which leaves me to question how you could have forged a sword such as the one that you carry at your hip."

"I already told you I had help…Master Rhunön," said Eragon trying not to make his words sound biting. His arms ached and his skin felt heated from all the hammering and shaping he'd done. Rhunön nodded once more.

"No doubt a great deal," she said eyeing the tongs he made once more. "But it does seem as if you are not entirely lost to the winds in matters that concerns the forge. You have proven that you have the diligence it takes to learn. Your first attempt could be called no more than a useless rod of metal. Your second attempt somewhat better and your third the actual product that I have asked of you."

Not bothered by her words in describing his attempt at forging a pair of tongs, Eragon merely waited for her to continue. After a long moment, she set his tongs done. "You may retire for the day," said Rhunön and before Eragon could protest, her eyes narrowed at him. "You have done enough and it is apparent that you are not ready to learn more else than what you know or presume to know now. However, I shall not merely let you go freely."

"And what is it that you wish to impart on me, Master?" asked Eragon warily.

"When you return here early morning tomorrow," said Rhunön with gleaming eyes and he thought she might be smiling but it was hard to tell with the aged elf-smith. "I want you to name each and every metal and ore in existence on Alagaësia and their properties. You have still much to learn if you ever want to attempt to forge more than a pair of tongs."

He grunted and she smiled slightly at his rude answer before shooing him out of her forge. Tired and yet satisfied with himself for the first time since he'd arrived in Ellesméra, Eragon couldn't help but wonder what Rhunön would teach him tomorrow. He had found something to devote his time to now. It would no doubt make his loneliness much easier to bear with. With his swords returned to him, Eragon turned and began to make his way away from Rhunön's forge. The elf-smith, Eragon found was much easier to get along with than the other elves in Ellesméra. She did not practice in their overly refined manners and was quick to snap at him if he treaded wrongly in her forge.

At least now he had one companion in Ellesméra even if she was rather withdrawn when it came to social tendencies but he would have Rhunön no other way. Rather than making his way back to Tialdarí Hall, he stopped by the library of Ellesméra to ask for a text on metals so that he could read overnight and prepare himself for her questioning tomorrow. He was her apprentice now and if he wanted her to take him seriously he was going to have to follow her orders with dedication.

During all the time he had spent with Rhunön, he had been worried that she would ask more about his swords but it seemed as if she had taken his words as adequate explanation. Whatever else she thought about Vrangr and Brisingr, she kept to herself. Perhaps in time he would be able to explain to her but not yet. The large tome explaining metals in his hands, Eragon made his way back to Tialdarí Hall as evening began to fall. Finally feeling as if he was going to have some sense of purpose in his life, he made his way through the gardens towards his quarters ready to turn in for the day and merely spend his time studying.

As he was doing so, he came across Brom also appearing as if he was making to return to his quarters to retire for the day. "Ah Eragon, good evening," said Brom with a slight smile as he caught sight of Eragon. His eyes flickered to the large volume in his hands. "Are you interested in metals?"

"It is a task that Rhunön has given to me," said Eragon as he motioned to the book. At his bemused look, Eragon continued. "She has agreed to take me as an apprentice in her forge."

At his words, surprise flitted across Brom's face. Then he stared at Eragon with a curious eye. "Rhunön has never taken an apprentice in all of her life. What she does, she does alone. Whatever you have done, you must have left a deep impression in her for her to admit you as a student in her craft. I never took you for a smith."

"Neither did I," said Eragon wryly smiling. He gestured to Brom. "Are you returning from your meetings you have been in as of late?"

"Aye," his expression grew serious, "In two days' time I shall be leaving Ellesméra for Surda. I have tarried here far too long and my conscience will not allow me to continue to waste away my days. I have done enough waiting."

"I see," murmured Eragon. So his father had finally found his purpose in life it appeared. Though he did not know what to say, a part of him did not want his father to go but he knew that it was Brom's destiny to do so. "It will be saddening to see the last of my companions go but I wish you well in your journey Brom."

"Aye, and I wish the same for you," said Brom in return. The two of them were quiet for a moment and neither of them seemed to speak before an innocent laugh pierced the air causing the both of them to start. The voice sound familiar but happier and more at ease.

It was then followed by another voice, "Arya, do not run through the gardens," the voice of Evandar chided and instantly Eragon fought to turn on the spot. If Brom saw him react in a great flurry of emotions, he would question him. Instead, he watched as Brom glanced over his shoulder with a smile. Seeing his reaction, Eragon took this as a safe cue to turn about and stare behind him. All he saw was a flash of dark hair as Evandar turned and disappeared within the shadowed boles that guarded the interior of Tialdarí Hall where Evandar and his family resided deep in the heart of the compound.

She was behind him mere moments earlier and he had missed his chance to see her. In that instance, Eragon wanted to throw the tome in his hand to the opposite side of the garden but took in a deep breath instead. He was going to remain patient. Arya would come to him eventually; there was no need for him to feel frustrated. She had wandered for seventy years which was nearly six decades more than him searching for a sense of belonging. In comparison to the time Arya spent, he could wait for her. Turning back to Brom, he inclined his head gathering his thoughts once more.

"In any case, it was a pleasure to know you Brom," said Eragon holding his hand out to the man before him. "Before you leave know this, when the time comes, I shall join you and your desire to see to the end of Galbatorix and his Forsworn. I can promise you that."

"I understand and I shall wait for that time to come," said Brom his blue eyes shining. "May peace live in your heart, Eragon."

Deeming Brom important enough to finish the exchange, Eragon nodded as he replied in kind, "And may the stars watch over you…" _Father. _

With that said, they parted ways and he could not help but glance over his shoulders at Brom before he made his way back to his chambers. Moving into his study, he set the large tome down on the ornate pine wood desk that stood in the center and was about to sit down to read before he frowned. Leaving his study, he returned a moment later with the glass orb of his white rose in hand. Setting the orb on the edge of his desk and using magic to hold it in place, Eragon nodded and took his seat.

Opening the volume before him, he began to read the trilling laughter a constant thought in the back of his mind.

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**Now I wanted to address the concerns over Arya's age. In the beginning Arya (as I have roughly calculated) is about three years old. Eragon doesn't really meet Arya so young (and you shall see why in the next chapter when she appears!) But I did my math with what was given to me on the Inheritance Wikia. Arya was born in 7899 AC while Eragon was born in 7985, therefore she is 86 years older than him. In the first book, Eragon turns 16 I believe therefore making Arya 102 years old and if we are going along with the assumption that the entire span of the Inheritance Cycle is a year (which I believe it is since winter did not pass except for in the beginnings of Eragon),she is a 103 by the end of Inheritance (which is what it says on the Wikia). I did not want to alter her age since it is too much of a significant change in her character and would flaw the story for if a century passed she would be more than 103 years old. And so that is that and since there really isn't much more I want to say, I hope to see you all soon again! **


	6. Chapter 6

**This will be the first jump in time in To Move Forward everyone and also Arya's first appearance in the story! I am still debating on whether or not I will include Arya POVs yet but I think I might have an idea on how to work on incorporating her thoughts into the story. In any case, I shall address some questions left in the last chapter and some that I just remembered. 1) Eragon does not know the true name of the ancient language because if he did, he would be too powerful. 2) Eragon in this story is older than Arya and he will keep aging until time catches up and you shall see how. 3) Rhunon is very old. Evandar and Islanzadi are both 400+ years old and there were two queens before Evandar and if we go by this standard and the fact that Rhunon was alive before the pact with the dragons were made she is definitely 1000+ years old. 4) Oromis shall appear soon... 5) ExA will happen perhaps just not as expected. Anyways with those concerns addressed, have fun reading! R&R! **

* * *

Learning under Rhunön was much different decided Eragon than learning under either Galbatorix or Oromis. She was both ruthless and yet an effective teacher. However on the third week, if Eragon could say that there was a hell on earth, then it was Rhunön's forge. She was adamant about him understanding the different metals and such and refused to allow him anywhere near the forge until he managed to tell the different between metals through touching and at times smelling them. And so, Eragon was subjected to test after test until he was able to close his eyes and sort apart the metals that she brought before him and it was this constant learning that took up a year in Ellesméra which would be the first of many to come in which he spent learning beneath Rhunön.

The time he spent at Rhunön's forge ate away at all of his remaining time and the more he spent with the aged elf the more he grew to focus during his stay in Ellesméra. It was fortunate that he was able to see Brom off before he left for the moment his training under Rhunön began, time was nonexistent to him even though in truth he had a century's worth to do as he pleased until his time to play a larger role in Alagaësia returned. Despite the rigor of his apprenticeship, he enjoyed leaning Rhunön's craft but as always there was one downside to her teaching. Early mornings he was forced to wake despite the lethargy that his body was never able to shake off. However, the first morning he entered Rhunön's forge for his learning was a horrid memory. He had nearly ended up walking into the smelter that she was building and onto burning coals had it not been for Rhunön who had stopped him. Then she scowled at him and warned him the next time he dared to enter her forge without his eyes in place that she was going to let him burn and let the pain of his burning skin be a memory that would impress on him the importance of using his senses.

Despite the diligence he saw to his studies under Rhunön he was not lost on his own dedication to his other obligations. He used his remaining time to study more on magic and to try and perfect his spells. His mother had been a master at manipulating the ancient language and because of that she was a ruthless warrior. He aimed to do the same and perhaps even more so. And when he was not studying magic, he was mediating through way of the Rimgar. The exercise was needed to relax his tensed limbs and muscles which seemed to cramp and knot uncomfortably the more time he spent with Rhunön in her forge. Though she tried to teach him various ways to ease the aching pain in his shoulders and arms, Eragon had a difficult time following for when she made to relax his upper torso; she would _unintentionally _put too much pressure to his muscles and would only serve to cause him to cramp even more.

"Can you not do that?" gritted Eragon as Rhunön took his arm in her hands to twist uncomfortably. He had half the mind to snap at her and tell the elf smith that he was not made out of feathers like a pillow and that he needed his bones whole and unsnapped.

"Quiet," snapped Rhunön, sending him an irritated stare. He did as she said and waited as she began to run her fingers about his arm testing the muscles and he gritted his teeth even more. Then she twisted his arm, each half in different directions and he heard a tremendous snap in his bones and a strangled sound was torn from him as his muscles relaxed.

"Are you trying to break my arm?" asked Eragon darkly as he rubbed his right arm before flinching when she took his left arm in her hands.

"Enough with your complaining," said Rhunön as she twisted his left arm without warning nearly causing him to jerk involuntarily on the chair that he sat on. She poked and prodded his arms in various places and when she made to take hold of his shoulders, Eragon immediately tore himself from her grasp. No matter how many times he told Rhunön that he was not one of her many pieces of art for her to twist and snap into place, it appeared as if the elf-smith paid him no heed. Instead, she sent him a dangerous look.

"If you do not take care to relax your body after spending your days hunched over an anvil, you may very well end up permanently bending your bones in place," scowled Rhunön as she took his shoulders in her hands, her calloused hands moving to rest on either side of his neck. "And since you seem to be having difficulties even doing that much, I will have to do it for you." Then she proceeded to mutter underneath her breath how she had taken an apprentice who could not seem to learn how to take care of himself. After a moment, she spoke once more to him directly. "It shall hurt Eragon."

He nodded, "Just forewarn me—"

Before he could finish, she pressed down on his neck with her fingers before snapping his head to the side causing a bone to let out a sound of relief. Feeling his eyes water as Rhunön released his head, he reached up to rub his neck staring up at her with narrowed eyes. "I asked that you warned me before your try to snap the bones in my neck sideways," grumbled Eragon as he stood to make way to her humble kitchen ready to cook supper for them to eat. It had been a routine that they had perfected over the years that he had been learning under Rhunön. Having dined with Rhunön since they started his apprenticeship, Eragon could not go on eating bread and cheese for the rest of his stay in Ellesméra and though he loathed to actually cook himself food seeing as he always had Bard to do so or could always fetch a meal to eat at the kitchens, he was forced to improvise seeing as Rhunön did not leave her forge often.

"My actions were warning enough," said Rhunön without any remorse as she sat at the wooden table her eyes flitting over the scrolls that lay before her. Eragon snorted quietly to himself as he reached forward to open one of her cupboards pulling out two bowls and two wooden goblets. Leave it to her to warn him in such a way but still he could not help but feel grateful to her for the aches in his body had subsided. As he thought of her painful ways to relieve muscle tension in his body he could not help but remember how it felt to have Arya's smooth hands easily rub away the knots that formed whenever he overexerted himself. That memory felt like a lifetime ago and perhaps it was thought Eragon as he lifted the lid of a wooden jar and reached inside for tea leaves which he easily crushed and placed within each goblet.

"Only you would think so," said Eragon moving to fill the goblets with water. When they were filled, he heated them with magic and returned to the table to give one to Rhunön for her to drink. At times, he felt like a caretaker when it came to his forge master. If Rhunön did not see to herself, he would oftentimes have to see to her. And that was his life for the past twelve years he had been living in Ellesméra. It was in this moment as he was tending to the food did he realize just how fast time seemed to pass them by. It was as Arya had said, centuries could flit by if they did not heed to their awareness of the outside world.

Expertly slicing the onions and tomatoes before him, Eragon with a sweep of his hand and cutting knife, placed the sliced vegetables in the metal pot before him. As he continued to cook them supper, Rhunön was quiet behind him and he knew she was deep in thought. He had years to perfect his student-master relationship with Rhunön. Though the elves found her eccentricities odd, he could not help but think that they were refreshing and at times even amusing.

After a moment, Rhunön spoke, "Do you plan to attend the Winter Feast?"

Eragon frowned at the mention of the feast. It was a feast that the elves held on the winter solstice when the sun was at its lowest point on the horizon. The beauty of the forest during such a time was breathtaking and one could not help but admire the once green world cloaked in white as the sun shined down on it. But despite the joy and festivities, Eragon could not bring himself near the elves and their celebrations for he knew that Arya and her family would be present. Though he wanted to see her, a greater part of him was reluctant to do so.

"I am surprised that you are even aware that there is a Winter Feast," said Eragon as he stirred the soup he was cooking practically feeling Rhunön's deep scowl behind his back. It was true, he was slightly surprised that Rhunön heard word of the feast since she did not appear interested in anything else apart from the happenings within her forge. As the soup was boiling, he went to gather the rest of their supper. Opening her pantry, he pulled out a loaf of bread which he set on a simple and yet beautifully carved wooden plate and then a few pastries. "I had thought that you viewed such matters trying. What were your words again? _A gaggle of meaningless chatter?_"

He turned his head and caught her eyes watching as her scowled deepened. "I remembered what I said well enough without needing you to reiterate it," she said as she took a drink from her goblet, her eyes studying him intensely. "Well, will you attend?"

"I do not see the reason I should," said Eragon finding a ladle to stir the soup with. He reached for the dry spices beside him and with a practiced hand sprinkled the ruby grain into the soup, stirring the spice into the liquid to give it a distinct flavor. "If I do not attend this year, there shall always be another opportunity to attend next year."

"And what is the reason for you not to attend?" asked Rhunön. Eragon could feel her eyes boring into the back of his skull and he fought the urge to turn about. Reason? He inwardly sighed, it was because he was hiding. He knew that Oromis and Glaedr were usually present at the feast as was required of them and he was never ready to face them. A part of Eragon wondered how the Oromis and Glaedr in his time would react if they were to find out that he had traveled back a century in time merely out of his own selfish desires to live once more. Would they look down at him? His frown deepened.

"Would it suffice to say that I have none?" asked Eragon tasting the soup. Satisfied with its flavors, he grabbed the two wooden bowls he'd set aside and filled both to the brim with soup. Then setting them on a tray he marched back to the table and set a bowl before Rhunön and another before his seat. Returning to the cupboard once more, he grabbed two wooden spoons and the plate with the loaf of bread he had set to the side. Returning to his seat across from Rhunön Eragon placed the bread in the middle of the table and handed her a wooden spoon.

She accepted it, her scowl still on her face as she observed him. Scooping up a spoonful of soup, he swallowed it in his mouth letting the hot liquid cascade down his throat. It was a welcome to the chilling cold that pervaded the outside world. "You have lived here as a guest of Evandar Könungr and his house for twelve years, Eragon. You should at least make it a priority to show yourself at one of the feasts or festivals that is held in Ellesméra."

He raised a brow at her still surprised that Rhunön, of all people would be the one to speak to him of such matters. He was content to merely living his life in Ellesméra away from others but it seemed as if even that much he could not achieve. Eragon, despite the years he'd lived in Ellesméra, never did well in the company of other elves. They were all too polite and refined that he found it hard to hold a conversation that did not continually loop in circles. And to add to the difficulties he found in speaking to others, he never had the patience or interest in idle talk which made conversations painfully dull and repetitive.

"Evandar Könungr did not seem to push me into attending," said Eragon with a frown as he swallowed another spoonful of soup.

"Ha!" Rhunön shook her head, "Another result of our overly refined sense of etiquette. You are his guest, the very same who saved his live twelve years ago, and are entitled to the hospitality of his house. He cannot simply force it upon you to attend to matters that you might find mundane when they are deeply rooted in elven culture and society."

He pondered her words for a moment glad that she was forthright with her thoughts. Had he insulted King Evandar? He frowned in deep contemplation before he turned his eyes to her. "Will you be attending this year?"

"No," Rhunön lifted her spoon to her mouth swallowing her spoonful of soup. After a few seconds, she continued. "I have attended plenty in my lifetime and I doubt my company will be sorely missed."

"The same goes for me," agreed Eragon. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"You have yet to attend any of the festivities in your twelve years here," she said her brows slanting dangerously. "I cannot see where it is the same for you."

"I do not think my company will be highly sought out," Eragon pointed out to her. "Therefore I do not think it is of utmost importance that I attend."

Her lips pursed at his logic but as stubborn as Eragon was, he knew that Rhunön was just as stubborn. "The others will grow to think of you as ignorant and ill mannered," said Rhunön with a frown.

"If I grew to care about what each person thought of me, I would hide myself in a cave far north and away from civilization," said Eragon. Though she wanted to scold him it seemed, he saw a twitch in Rhunön's lips and knew that the elf found his words amusing. As much as he enjoyed Rhunön's company he was positive that she also enjoyed his in return. Before he became an apprentice under her, she had lived rather lonely in her forge and house away from the others and it appeared that most elves did not seek Rhunön out knowing of her distaste for anything except for her work.

"You are steadfast in your decision not to attend?" asked Rhunön with a frown.

"I am," said Eragon. Finishing his soup he reached for the bread and with deft fingers easily split the loaf into two equal halves. He held one half to Rhunön as a peace offering hoping that she would abandon the conversation. To his relief she did not push him and took the half to eat alongside with her soup. Instead of conversing, the two of them continued to finish their supper in silence often speaking when they deemed fit.

When they were done eating, Rhunön turned her eyes to him. "Before you leave Eragon," she said in a soft voice, "I would wish that you consider my words. You are still young in elven society and as such some transgressions may be overlooked but you must remember that you are one of the few remaining Riders and your lack of disregard for elvish culture may cause you to appear as if you are ungrateful."

Strapping Vrangr to his back, he adjusted Brisingr on his left hip and nodded. "I will," said Eragon. He paused before he bowed to Rhunön. "Rest well Master Rhunön."

She inclined her head to him and disappeared to the second story of her adobe. Lingering for a moment longer, Eragon turned on his heel and left. He knew what it was that Rhunön spoke of. The fact that she showed her concerns told him more than her words itself. The elves were bothered by his lack of interest and respect in their culture. He was not sure who but he knew there were those amongst them that did not like his attitude and in retrospect, Eragon was positive he would not like himself if he saw how he was acting from an outsider's view.

He had never been cast to the winds on his own before and because of that he found difficulties in acting. Everything he did rested solely upon his own shoulders. There was no higher authority that commanded him. Yes, he did answer to Evandar Könungr but that was due to the fact that he resided within the elf king's domain. The moment he set foot outside of Du Weldenvarden he was free to do what he wished. If he wanted to hide out in a cave in the north, there was no one to stop him. It was with this freedom that he found himself hesitant in his purpose. Without someone to decide for him, it was difficult to choose his own path.

His thoughts wandered back to his conversation with Rhunön. Eragon understood that his lack of attendance appeared to be rude and ungrateful towards the king who had given him asylum within Ellesméra but he did not know how to act amongst the elves. What could he do? What could he say? His personality, which was a stark contrast to most elves, made it hard for him to share in their views and maintain any sort of interest in their affairs. Then there was also the matter of Glaedr and Oromis. He did not want to risk them delving into his secrets. The two of them were intelligent and could gather that there was an aspect of Eragon that was suspicious and he did not want to relinquish his knowledge to others yet. It was too dangerous of a risk to take.

Perhaps this was the moment he should leave Ellesméra?

He had waited for twelve years for Brom to form the Varden and it was with great effort and difficulty that his father had managed to do so two years past. But the Varden was still so very young and if he joined now, he could risk altering the structure of the Varden. That would mean that he would have to wait a few more years before he could join the Varden. If there was one thing that he learned during his stay in Ellesméra and apprenticeship underneath Rhunön, it was to try for patience. At times, he would be able to grasp the idea well enough and others he did not. Eragon was naturally an impatient person and so it was difficult to change his mindset.

Pulling his cloak tighter about him to keep the chilly winds at bay, he continued his trek through the forest towards Tialdarí Hall. The snow crunched underneath his boots as he walked through the now familiar city of Ellesméra. Not bothering to stop to greet others and nor did they seem inclined to return the sentiment, he returned to Tialdarí Hall with little incidents on the way.

Passing through the gardens towards the common room, he continued onward down the hall made of tree trunks and entered his quarters. Unfastening his brooch that he had made himself in the shape of a dragon, he folded his cloak and placed it on the armchair in his living room. Too tired to study that night, he continued onwards towards his bedroom removing his swords as he did so. He took a seat on his bed, reaching down and unlacing his boots before sliding his feet from the leather.

As he sat there, he sighed rubbing a hand over his face. He felt much older than he did. He was near his third decade now and yet he had remained unchanged by the mark of time. Lifting his face from his hands, his eyes caught sight of the glass orb on his bedside table. Reaching out to take the orb in his hands, he stared at the white rose embedded in the glass. Twelve years had passed and he had yet to come across Arya. Not even a slight glance. He had heard whispers of her presence through Tialdarí Hall and Ellesméra but he never had the fortune of seeing her with his own eyes. How long was he going to have to wait to see her?

The biggest reason as to why Eragon never made to seek Arya out was due in part to his fear. It was no longer his fear of seeing a different Arya since he had long but accepted that the one he would meet was going to be different but his fear of manipulating her. He knew Arya perhaps more so than she knew herself. He did not want his actions to affect the outcome of her personality. When she decided to seek him out or when fate deemed it time for him to meet her than he would allow himself to be near her. Otherwise, he would wait to do so.

Turning his eyes away from the glass orb, he instead stared at his right palm where his gedwëy ignasia. _Twelve years, _thought Eragon. It was rather hard for him to wrap his mind over the fact that he had spent twelve years in Ellesméra, that he had spent a decade away from his true life—away from his love ones.

Blinking once more, he sighed. Though he had sought to not think of his past life these past years there always was a moment in time in which he found it hard not to think of anything else. Upset and tired, he wearily closed his eyes. He might as well rest. Unable to continue on, he lowered his head to his pillow glancing at the empty space beside him. Closing his eyes for a moment, he turned his back on the spot and drew the covers over him as he went to sleep.

The day of the Winter Feast, Eragon was busy working in the forge and Rhunön had decided to leave him alone to work seeing as he appeared troubled when she saw him earlier in the day. Holding the chisel in his hands, Eragon frowned as he angled the end towards the steel statue before him that he had been spending the past few months working on with diligence. With a light tap of his hammer against the chisel, he shaved off another strip of metal with ease.

Sitting before him on the workbench was a statue of a dragon about to take flight. It was a statue of Saphira that he was trying to chisel from memory. Whenever he was upset or troubled, he would pick up the chisel and hammer in Rhunön's forge and set himself to work on detailing out his memories of Saphira upon the metal. So far, the statue was far from done. He had managed to get the outline of her body and soon he was going to have to etch her scales in one by one to the best of his abilities and then work on her spikes and her many other features. It was detailed work but he rather have something to occupy his time with else he would end up brooding over fate.

Carefully continuing his chiseling of Saphira, Eragon blinked when he heard the sound of boots and the shift in the snow. Rhunön was already back to bother him? Not glancing up from his work at the sound of footsteps, Eragon said, "I will not change my mind Master Rhunön."

Preparing to chisel away at the uneven parts around the shoulders, he blinked when instead of a guttural and raspy voice that answered him a melodious and familiar one did. His surprise was so great that he missed the end of his chisel and ended up hammering his own fingers. Blinking at the pain, he stared down at his broken fingers before lifting his head towards the open wall of the forge. The person standing there made his heart catch in his chest as time seemed to stand still.

Standing there with a heavy cloak clasped about her at the base of her throat was a beautiful and radiant elf maiden perhaps—in his opinion—the most stunning person there was to ever walk Alagaësia. He took in her angular face, her long, ebony tresses that fell down her back like a waterfall, the slant of her brows, the curve of her red lips, and the proud way in which she held herself. But the most shocking and moving characteristics of the elf before him were her dark emerald eyes which sparkled as they peered out at the world curiously. Was that truly Arya standing before him? Unable to speak, he could only stare at her in surprise and immediately all the longing for her in the past twelve years that he had held close to his heart seemed to burst forth. She was younger thought Eragon as he stared at her. There was not a great difference between the Arya before him and his Arya in appearance apart from the radiant glow that seemed to cling to Arya's skin due to her youth. She was but fifteen years old remembered Eragon in surprise, around the same age he was when he first met her.

Realizing that it was rude of him to not speak, Eragon stood and touched two of his fingers to his lips as he greeted her first. She was a princess after all. She responded in kind repeating the second line to him and he finished with the third line. He had only said the third line to three other people apart from Arya: Oromis, Evandar, and Islanzadí. There was a slight change in her emerald eyes which he knew was to be her slight shock at how he respected her even if he did not know her or rather she did not think he knew her.

She glided further into the forge and away from the cold of the outside, her eyes flickering to the rough statue of Saphira that was sitting before him on the workbench. "How are your fingers?" asked Arya gesturing towards his hand with a slender finger.

_My fingers? _

Somewhat confused for the moment, he tried to shake the daze his mind was in. His thoughts were too muddled for him to sort through and every time he lingered a second longer on Arya's stunning appearance, it just seemed to daze him even more. It took a few seconds for her words to process and when they did, he glanced down at his fingers on his left hand to find that they were healed. Remembering that he had hammered them in his surprise, Eragon nearly wanted to groan aloud. He must look to be in poor form for a smith. If Rhunön had saw what he'd done she would have shook her head at his lack of control.

Still reeling from the sight of Arya after twelve long years, Eragon blinked before he heard himself asking her, "Are you here to see Rhunön-elda?"

Arya merely smiled at him as if she knew a secret that he did not and instantly his heart constricted in his chest as he remembered all of her smiles that she had bestowed upon him during their time together. The Arya he knew never smiled freely for anyone and whenever she smiled at him, he had always cherished it. Now to be receiving a smile from her and yet having not met her in this time, he could not help but think of their differences already. _Stop thinking, _Eragon mentally berated himself as Arya moved to answer him.

"I have already seen Rhunön-elda," her emerald eyes sparkled, "She has already left for the Winter Feast."

Surprised, Eragon stared at Arya. "Is she ill?" asked Eragon not thinking of any other way Rhunön would attend the feast when but days earlier she had told him she was not the least bit interested in the festivities. He expected Arya to pin him with a look that told him to show some common courtesy but instead she merely laughed lightly, the trilling sound of her voice rooting him to the spot.

"No, perhaps irritated but not ill," said Arya once her laughter had subsided. She made her way forward to him once more and his eyes detailed the way she walked. She appeared to be utterly relaxed, another distinguishing factor between this Arya and the one that he knew. Her emerald eyes settled on the dragon statue before she spoke once more. "Are you chiseling the details of your dragon into a statue?"

"Yes," said Eragon wincing at how awkward his one word answer was. Never before did he wish he had some sort of eloquence when it came to speaking with Arya. Did he even sound coherent to her? He saw her fingers twitch and instantly knew what she wanted. "If you are curious, I am not against you touching my work."

Arya did not say anything but he could see the gleam in her eyes which told him that she was interested in what she saw. He watched as she let her fingers trace over the details of the dragon statue. It was akin to the light caresses that she always gave him whenever they were lying together. As she stood there, he could not help but feel rather heady when the scent of crushed pine needles floated over to him. Her hair shifted and his fingers twitched wanting to brush the strand away behind her pointed ear.

"There is still much for me to do," Eragon said wanting to fill the silence else he was afraid she would hear his pounding heartbeat. "It will take months for me to completely bring justice to the memory of my dragon."

"Though unfinished, its beauty is not diminished," said Arya causing a swell of pride to rush through Eragon at her approval. She paused before pulling her fingers back to turn her eyes to him and he blinked remembering the innumerous emotions that he had seen in the very same emerald eyes peering out at him. He had seen her cry before. He had seen her in the throes of passion. He had seen her angry. He had seen her humored. And above all, he had seen her for who she was as she had seen him. But the moment the thought struck him, another thought pushed its way to the forefront. Those were his memories of another life, another Arya. The one standing before him, was not his and he was unsure if she ever would be.

Unable to continue in her presence due to the tremendous heartache that suffused him, Eragon found his voice and asked, "Is there something else that you are seeking, Arya Dröttningu?" If she was surprised that he knew her name, she did not show it.

Instead she nodded, "If you are not busy," her eyes flicked to the statue and back to Eragon. "Will you attend the Winter Feast with me? I am curious to know the Rider whom saved the life of my father and has become the only person taken as the apprentice of Rhunön-elda."

She was asking for his presence? He stared at her and all the reasons for not going to the Winter Feast that he had prepared days earlier in case Rhunön decided to persuade him to attend fell away as he nodded, mute from his shock. Her only response was to smile at him and instantly, his love for her welled up considerably and as he followed her, he ached to reach out and take her hand.

Was this fate's second chance of allowing him to know Arya once more? If it was thought Eragon firmly, he was going to take it. He had waited twelve years for her and his patience was rewarded for she had sought him out due to her own curiosity. As they passed underneath the dogwood tunnel, he could not help but think of another time when he and Arya had walked together hand in hand under the very same tunnel. His eyes slid over to Arya as she walked by his side and he swore to himself then that he would not miss another opportunity to know Arya once more.

Fate had finally brought her to him.

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**I was always curious as to how Arya's relationship was like with Rhunon in the original series and I could not help but just tie her relationship with Rhunon together with her relationship to Eragon. It just seemed fitting in this sense. Anyways, onto bigger concerns...Arya and Eragon had just met and Eragon is completely speechless! (There is a part 2 to this and then another time jump). Anyways, in the beginning Arya will be OC since in the book her character was already defined since she's lived for a hundred years but don't worry we shall see the Arya we know later on in this story. Now with Arya introduced the story shall begin to pick up pace and things will start to get rougher on Eragon. Anticipate the next chapter everyone! See you soon! And gosh I am spoiling you all, three chapters in 2 days? **


	7. Chapter 7

**And so here is the second part for you all to read. (Standard Disclaimer-I used a few sentences that Oromis says in Eldest in this chapter since I thought they fit with the context. Inheritance=CP) Apart from that, let's address some concerns. 1) Eragon only acted like that because well...he was seeing Arya for the first time in twelve years and since he is already in love with some form of Arya, it was mind blowing for him. Don't worry though, the shock wears off eventually! 2) I know some of you want to see Eragon spar so don't worry, it'll come up soon. 3) Thank you to Ky111 for pointing out my mixing up of Drottningu and Drottning (I went back and fixed it all!) 4) This OC Arya does not last long. Anyways, apart from those concerns, feel free to R&R! **

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Emerging from the tunnel, he followed Arya tugging his cloak closer to his body as he did so. Despite the chill of the winter, he could not help but feel warm. The part of Arya that was merged with his soul seemed to radiate a calming heat that pervaded his entire body. Was the part of her within him reacting to the Arya beside him? He could only speculate as he followed beside Arya listening to her speak and trying to commit to memory the sound of her melodious voice. Eventually, she turned to him with a curious look. "Do you enjoy your apprenticeship with Rhunön?"

He pondered her question for a moment before at long last, Eragon nodded. "It is an interesting and rigorous craft to apply myself to," said Eragon thinking of the past twelve years that he had spent learning underneath Rhunön. "However, I do not see myself learning how to smith for the rest of my life."

"And why is that if I may ask?" Her emerald eyes peered at him curiously causing him to blink. Had it not been for the fact that he had not seen Arya in twelve years and that he was dealing with an entirely different personality, he would not be as nervous as he was presently.

"I do not wish to stay here while Galbatorix sits on his underserved throne," said Eragon with a hard expression as he thought of his life's work waiting for him. A few more years and once Brom handed over control of the Varden to Weldon, he would be able to finally leave and pursue his goal in life. He was never meant to tarry when Galbatorix was still alive in his future—his past life. And he was certainly not going to start now. "There is too much to be done and if we simply let matters wait, nothing shall be resolved."

His eyes darted to Arya and he could tell from the way her brows were furrowed and the slight dip downwards of her lips that she was in deep contemplation and that was when he realized that it was around this age that Arya began to question her role in life. Was she questioning now? Was she contemplating the idea of stepping outside of Du Weldenvarden? He dared not speak for he was afraid he would only serve to interrupt her thoughts.

Eventually she spoke, "Have you decided when to leave?"

"Not yet," said Eragon shaking his head. "But I have no doubt that the day to depart will be soon." He was going to have to bid his time and hope that when the time came for him to leave he would be able to do so. She nodded her thoughtful expression yet to fade from her face. After a long moment, he decided to direct the conversation towards Arya. "And what of you, Arya Dröttningu? Have you found anything of interest that you would like to study in?"

He waited for her answer watching as her lips pursed slightly, barely enough to be noticeable, and a crease formed between her brows. Her answer to his question would show him just how different this Arya could be from the one he knew. Or perhaps, it would show him just how similar the two of them could be. It took her a few moments to reply and when she did, he could only feel relieved. "I do not know yet," said Arya seriously. "There is still much to consider…and I…" she faltered hesitantly before falling into silence altogether.

Her hesitancy gave him hope that she was indeed considering the position as elven ambassador of her people. Though he had prevented the death of her father, which in the other time motivated her to want to strike out against Galbatorix, it appeared as if Arya was still unsure of merely living with the boundaries of Du Weldenvarden. Perhaps she was always destined to leave the confines of the forest, thought Eragon. Perhaps, she never really needed motivation to find her role in life and maybe it was Arya, herself, who sought the world outside of the lush green domain of her father's kingdom.

"It is understandable," said Eragon inclining head to try and reassure her that her indecision was not a fault in her.

Following Arya, he blinked in surprise as they passed through an open archway and into a hall that resembled Tialdarí Hall but this one was more spacious. He had never seen it before in his time within Ellesméra and it made him curious as to how he could have overlooked it. Catching sight of his expression, Arya sought to explain to him. "This is a hall in which we hold our festivities when we are otherwise incapable to do so outside," she gestured to the wintery scene of Ellesméra that one could see through one of the windows. "It would be most uncomfortable to host a feast in the snow."

"That it would be," agreed Eragon glancing about the large hall. He spotted the flameless lanterns that hung above them overhead and could feel the festive atmosphere from the elves that were gathered for the occasion. "Has it started yet?"

"It has," said Arya with a nod. He frowned, apologetic that he had caused her to miss the beginnings of the feast. "It is of little concern," she said catching sight of his expression as she led him to the grand table in the center amongst all the others set out within the hall. At the head sat Evandar Könungr and to his right was Islanzadí Dröttningu. Unsure of where to sit himself, he was about to merely find a table to the side to settle himself at when Arya shook her head and motioned for him to follow her. Glancing at the table where Evandar and his mate resided over, he blinked when he caught sight of Oromis. Where was Glaedr?

His question was answered when he caught sight of amber scales from one of the windows. Keeping his face calm, he followed Arya to her seat to Evandar's left. She motioned to the empty seat beside her to which he took after a moment's hesitation greeting the king as he did so.

"Ah, Eragon," Evandar smiled at him as he settled himself beside Arya. The king turned and exchanged a look with his daughter and Eragon watched interested with how Arya would interact with Evandar. She reached out and laid a hand on his for a few seconds before pulling away as he nodded. "It is a pleasure to see you outside of the forge."

"I apologize for my lack of attendance these past years," said Eragon sincerely. "I was too busy in regards to my apprenticeship under Rhunön-elda."

"It is understood," said Evandar with a nod, pleased with his apology. "Rhunön, I believe, is not an easy teacher to learn under, particularly when it comes to her craft."

"Yes," Eragon nodded, "But she is an effective one none the less."

"How goes your study at the forge?" asked Islanzadí curiously, her emerald eyes darting to him. Eragon received a plate from one of the elves and thanked the person before turning his attention back to Islanzadí Dröttningu.

"It goes well," Eragon answered her. He spent the next few minutes speaking to Islanzadí and Evandar about his study under Rhunön and his time spent apart from the forge and when they were satisfied with the information they were presented, they turned their attention away from him and towards others. Glad to be done with the questioning, he turned his attention back to the plate of fruits and vegetables before him.

Content to merely keeping to himself, he picked up his fork and began to eat allowing his eyes to roam the hall trying to find a familiar face in the crowd of many. As he did so, he blinked when they eventually landed on Rhunön who sat a few seats away from him. The elf smith appeared irritated that she was present for the feast and was speaking in what he assumed to be short and clipped tones with those about her.

It was heartening to know that Rhunön did not find such activities enjoyable. The both of them had similar viewings when it came to elven festivities which were to say they did not fit the atmosphere. While Rhunön lacked the patience to deal with the outside world, Eragon lacked the etiquette. He had grown up a lone child without the presence of any friends his age and was content to merely spending his time with his mother and Saphira. Fifteen years of isolation from the outside world had made it difficult for him to speak freely to others.

"At what age did you become a Rider?" He paused and turned to Arya. He had thought she was conversing with the other elves but she had turned her head and focused her attention on him instead. Feeling his throat go dry, Eragon thought of his answer to her question. He could see no harm with telling her the truth about his age when Saphira hatched for him.

"I was twelve," said Eragon softly. His eyes flickered to his fork as he expertly twirled it from finger to finger. Then he paused, his eyes moving back to hold her gaze before he smiled. "It was undoubtedly the best thing that could have happened to me." _Apart from meeting you, _Eragon thought mentally wishing he could tell her by word of mouth. He knew, however, it would only serve to alarm her.

There was a gleam in her eyes and Eragon could only think that her curiosity was inflamed. Then she asked a question that no one had dared asked him in the twelve years he resided in Ellesméra. "What was the name of your dragon?"

He froze. He had never spoken Saphira's name to anyone since he had arrived to this time. No one knew the name of his dragon and he had an inkling that they did not ask simply out of respect for his loss. Mistaking his silence for offense, Arya continued. "If it bothers you, you do not have to—"

"Her name," said Eragon softly, so softly that only Arya could hear, "Was Saphira."

She blinked at him once like an owl before nodding, her eyes lowering to the table before they lifted to meet his gaze once more. "That is a beautiful name," said Arya gently. "She was no doubt a magnificent dragon."

"She was," said Eragon with a nodded. He grew silent and without anything better to do, ate the berry pie before him. And so he began to describe to Arya Saphira. She sat listening to him, entranced by what he had to say about his dragon. Though he kept important details vague, Arya understood the meaning of most of his stories and did not question him. Instead, she listened to him in interest and he could see a gleam enter her eyes when he described to her his first flight with Saphira or when he watched her hunt for herself for the first time when she was old enough. And before he knew it, the pain of mentioning Saphira began to dull in his chest. Speaking about her, recalling the memories he spent with his bonded partner proved to him that she did exist in his other time—that his memories of her were real and that he had lived his life as he remembered it before Alagaësia had granted him his wish.

Eventually after some time when he was done, he felt as if a great burden was lifted from his chest. He was finally able to tell someone about Saphira. He was able to finally share the memories long buried his heart with another. Turning back to his plate of food, he took a bite out of his apple slices dipped with syrup.

"It would mean much if you can keep this conversation between the two of us," said Eragon letting the sweet taste of syrup erupt in his mouth. "I do not want my dragon to become common knowledge."

"Of course," said Arya with a nod. "It is your right to share not mine. However, I am grateful that you were willing to speak to me about her."

Eventually the dining was done and instead the merriment began. While several tables pulled out interesting games to play such as runes, a quartet had appeared in the hall. Two elves bore harps of cherrywood, the third a set of reed pipes, and the fourth nothing but her voice, which she immediately put to use with a playful song that danced about their ears. And though Eragon wanted to speak with Arya more she had to attend to her duties and speak with the other elves particularly the high elf lords and ladies. Even though she was still young, her status required that she played her part.

Trying not to let her absence bother him too much, he instead searched for two goblets of faelnirv and weaved in and out between the elves that were conversing in small groups about the hall. Careful to avoid the center where the dancing was, he found Rhunön tucked away in a secluded corner looking all the world as if someone had tossed her precious artwork into an infernal abyss.

"You do not seem to be enjoying yourself," said Eragon as he appeared before her. If she appeared to be surprised by his appearance, she did not show it. Instead she merely accepted the proffered goblet of liqueur, taking a long sip from it.

Then in her raspy voice, "I was all but forced to by Arya Dröttningu," said Rhunön with narrowed eyes as she stared at Arya who was conversing with Lord Däthedr across the hall. Eragon merely waited interested in what she had to say. "She has proven to be Islanzadí's daughter quite well. Despite her youth, she knows how to use her words wisely and with great intelligence."

"Is it not only fitting that she does as the daughter of Evandar Könungr and Islanzadí Dröttningu?" asked Eragon.

"One would say so," acknowledged Rhunön. She was quiet for a moment before she turned to stare at Eragon, raising her brow ever so slightly. "And what of you? I had thought you were opposed to attending the Winter Feast."

"I, too, was asked by Arya Dröttningu to attend," said Eragon. Rhunön stared at him curiously but did not say anything more to his words. Instead the two of them stood together drinking their goblets of faelnirv as they stayed away from the celebratory atmosphere. Eventually after some time of watching the elves dance about, Eragon turned to Rhunön. "Can you dance Master Rhunön?"

"What sort of question is that?" she asked startled at his curiosity in her footwork.

"A curious one," responded Eragon.

"I can Eragon," said Rhunön, "It is natural amongst elves to possess grace even if one does not practice in it for years."

He found that hard to believe but she had spoken in the ancient language and he had no choice but to accept her words. They settled into a comfortable silence once more and as he drank his faelnirv, he could not help but let his eyes wander back to Arya. She was no longer speaking with Lord Däthedr but was now conversing with another elf. Perhaps he had already had his time with her for the day thought Eragon as he took a long drink of his faelnirv. It would be selfish of him to ask for anymore of her time when she was busy with her duty. She was the daughter of the king and as such it was required that she fulfilled her obligations at such festivities.

Another moment passed and then Eragon sighed, turning to Rhunön. "I believe I shall leave now," said Eragon. He had stayed for a decent amount of time to be deemed courteous and by now, mostly everyone had seen him and Rhunön standing by each other observing their surroundings.

"Do as you will but do not forget to be at the forge by early morn tomorrow," said Rhunön eyeing him above her goblet. He nodded and after returning his goblet, made to exit the hall. However, his escape did not go unnoticed for the moment he was near the entrance to the hall, a hand reached out to take him by the shoulder followed by a familiar voice.

"If you would kindly spare me some of your time, Eragon," he froze on the spot as Oromis's voice washed over him. In his desire to leave, he had forgotten that his master was present as well as Glaedr and how they were the reasons he wanted to avoid appearing at such festivities. Taking in a deep breath, Eragon turned as Oromis withdrew his hand and gazed upon the Cripple Who Is Whole. He appeared as Eragon remembered. His hair was silver and he was old beyond measure, but his age was not comparable to Rhunön's, who was one of the most aged elves in all of Du Weldenvarden. He gazed at his master hoping that nothing gave away the emotions that were coursing through him.

Oromis was one of the first to have accepted Eragon for who he was. Rather than mistrusting him and treating him like a snake within their midst, Oromis had shown him kindness like no one else and had accepted his past and his faults as well as his desire to be better. Despite the different times, Eragon would forever remain grateful to his master. He blinked before raising his hand to touch his lips. "Atra esterní ono thelduin," greeted Eragon.

Oromis touched his own two lips and returned the gesture and when they were done with their greetings, he spoke, "I have wanted to see you for some time now," said Oromis with a smile, "But it appears as if the both of us are rather busy with our own obligations."

"I apologize for making you wait so long," said Eragon. He did feel remorse at causing Oromis to wait twelve years to see him. He was sure that the past twelve years had been harsh for his master seeing as he had to acquaint himself to living as a cripple now when he used to be whole. He remembered how ill Oromis appeared at certain lessons and how sometimes his seizures overwhelmed him to the point that he could not participate in a certain day's lesson. Did it bother Oromis? He would have thought him to be bitter about his situation but as Eragon remembered him, he was still his kind and wise master.

"It is of little concern," said Oromis, his eyes piercing into Eragon's as if he was trying to discern who he really was. "If you do not mind my forthright, Eragon, but I would like to speak with you. I have heard word that during your stay in Ellesméra that you have done little else but devote your time to Rhunön's forge and your study under her."

"I have," said Eragon allowing Oromis to lead him to a secluded corner away from the festivities. Somewhat reluctant, Eragon took a seat beside Oromis on the wooden bench that curved out form the wall and waited for the older elf to speak. It was long in coming but when he did, Eragon was hesitant as to what Oromis could possibly want to speak to him about.

"I heard word from Evandar Könungr that Galbatorix is the reason why your dragon is no longer with you," said Oromis, turning his head to pin Eragon with a kind stare. Hoping against hope that Oromis would not delve too deeply into the matter, Eragon merely nodded wanting for some excuse for the conversation to end. If only he had left earlier or noticed that something was amiss he would not be here. Though he did not like his master's company, he was too anxious that Oromis or perhaps even Glaedr might see through his words. "It is another atrocity that he has committed against our brethren."

"I am glad that you and your dragon are alive despite my loss though," said Eragon truthfully as his eyes darted to Glaedr whose scales were a staking contrast against the white of the snow. Oromis's eyes flickered to Glaedr before returning to Eragon.

"I am glad as well and our disabilities are small prices to pay for we are the only free Rider and Dragon alive," said Oromis sadly. "While you and Brom are the only Riders who have survived the war and the loss of your dragons. It must have been difficult for you, Eragon."

He did not respond hoping his silence said enough. And it did for Oromis did not press him into speaking. Another moment passed before Eragon spoke, "No harder than it must have been for you," he faltered before gathering his courage to continue speaking. He knew that Oromis would not take his words offensively unlike the other elves if they heard him. "Your disabilities…it must pain you greatly."

"Some days," said Oromis quietly appearing momentarily stricken before it was passed. "But I have learned to live with it. The result of war never leaves one whole, Eragon, whether it is physically or mentally. There is always a scar to be imparted and those who carry those scars carry it for their entire lives."

"I understand," agreed Eragon. But his thoughts bordered a darker train of thought that he had come to accept long ago. _Once a killer, always a killer. _Killing did not bother him. Not in the slightest but some days, he could not help but wonder at how many lives he had taken. It was by no means a small number. Perhaps he should have some sort of remorse thought Eragon as he mused quietly. Then again, they had also sought to kill him. It was only fair that he returned the favor.

"Have you been enjoying your stay here at Ellesméra?" asked Oromis and Eragon was glad that the elf had decided to leave the subject of war scars for another matter if not leaving the topic altogether.

"It is very peaceful here," said Eragon honestly. "If I do not pay close attention to my surroundings I am afraid time will pass me by. One could become accustomed to merely closing themselves to the world outside of Du Weldenvarden to pursue their own passions in their solitude."

"It is often that most elves do," said Oromis with a nod. "And is your passion in metalwork?"

"It is an interesting craft," Eragon turned his head and spotted Rhunön speaking to Arya now and wondered what the two elves could be speaking of. Then remembering that Oromis was waiting for him to explain himself, he tore his attention away from Arya to elaborate. "I never saw myself as a smith but I could not help but want to learn beneath Rhunön-elda. I believe our personalities are well fit else, she would have abandoned my apprenticeship long ago."

"Rhunön is different," said Oromis with a faint smile. "She was once an apprentice herself long ago. Rhunön first learned her craft from Fûthark, a legendary grimstborith of Dûrgrimst Ingeitum clan. You are the first apprentice she has ever taken under her wing and have caused quite a stir amongst the others who all know how short Rhunön can be with anything else apart from her work. It is a great feat in of itself to learn under her, one of our best smiths to have ever plied her work."

"It is always an honor to know that," said Eragon as he turned to Oromis. Then he tentatively asked his next question. "Do you plan on staying within Ellesméra for the rest of your days, Oromis-elda?" Though he already knew the answer to his questions, he wanted a reply from Oromis so that he could confirm just like how he did with Arya, that Oromis was still who Eragon remembered to be, that he had not changed his master through his own actions.

"Aye that I do," said Oromis, his aged face taking on a somber expression. "Many sorrows exist in this world, Eragon, and one of the greatest is being unable to help those in pain. I cannot risk leaving this sanctuary, for if I had died before one of Galbatorix's eggs has hatched, one of his three that he had managed to rescue, then there would be no one to pass on our secrets to the new Rider, and it would only serve to make it even harder to defeat Galbatorix. It is my duty as the last of the elders of our order to protect our secrets and our knowledge so that I may one day pass it on."

"It is understandable," said Eragon with a nod of his head. He had thought as much of Oromis and was glad that his master had not proven him wrong when he went to answer him.

"In any case, Glaedr and I cannot fight. Glaedr has his disability, and I," he touched the side of his head, "I am also maimed. The Forsworn broke something within me when I was their captive, and while I can still teach and learn, I can no longer control magic, except for the smallest of spells. The power escapes me, no matter how much I struggle. I would be worse than useless in battle, I would be a weakness and a liability, one who could easily be captured and used against our allies. And even though I yearn to openly oppose Galbatorix and his Forsworn, I lack the strength to."

"You are not weak Oromis-elda," protested Eragon saddened that his master would think so little of himself.

"I am not blind to what I have become Eragon," said Oromis softly with a smile. "But I thank you nonetheless for your consoling words." Then after a moment, he gestured to Eragon. "And what of you? From what you have told me thus far, I believe that you intend to pursue other matters apart from your apprenticeship beneath Rhunön."

"When the time is I right, I plan to travel to Surda and join with the rebel group that Brom has created," said Eragon with a slight frown. "Galbatorix has managed to destroy the remains of the Broddring Kingdom in the last twelve years to create the core of his Empire and I have heard word that what remains of Vroengard as well as the lands east and south to his holdings have been conquered as well. There is much work to do if we hope to move against Galbatorix. I shall not sit idly by."

"As expected of a Rider betrayed by what was once his comrade," said Oromis with a nod. A minute of silence passed between the two of them before Oromis stood as if sensing that the conversation between them was coming to an end. "It was a pleasure speaking with you Eragon. I can only hope that we shall meet again in the future that is to come and if we are not fortunate enough, then let me wish you luck and fortune on your journey whenever you decide to depart."

Eragon stood as well and paid his respect to the elf before saying his farewells. Oromis merely acknowledged him with a smile before he turned and left merging once more with the revelers. Staring in the direction of his master, Eragon sighed reaching up with a hand to rub his face. He felt a slight headache making its way to the forefront. It hurt to try and think of one person as two different people. He did not even know what to believe anymore. Had he really met Arya in Gil'ead? Or had he met her in Rhunön's forge? The same question could be said of Oromis. Which ones were the real ones to him now? The ones from his memory? The ones whom he knew and understood? Or the ones that stood before him? It was all so confusing.

Rubbing his temple slightly, Eragon turned to leave but stopped once more when he heard someone call to him. He turned surprised to find Arya making her way to him. "Arya Dröttningu," Eragon glanced over her head trying to see if anyone was seeking her presence but it appeared as if she was unoccupied at the moment. "I had thought you were busy speaking to the other elves."

"I was," said Arya with a nod. "But the matter is done." Her eyes flickered to his expression and how tired he appeared. "Are you feeling well, Eragon?"

"I am," Eragon reassured her, feeling pleased that she was concerned enough to ask him about his health. "It is but a mere headache. Perhaps a good rest shall cure me."

She frowned slightly and once more a crease appeared between her brows showing that she was bothered by something. She did not speak of it however but instead asked him, "How are you enjoying the winter feast? Is it to your liking?"

"It is very…festive," said Eragon trying the best he could to give a meaningful description to the event. "However, I believe it is time that I retire for the day."

She smiled slightly as if amused by his words, "But you have yet to enjoy yourself in a dance."

"Perhaps another time," said Eragon shaking his head. He blinked when she tilted her head up towards him and then she turned beckoning him to follow her. Eragon did so watching as she moved to the edge of the center before holding her hand out to him. He stared at her fingers not comprehending what it was that she wanted him to do. A few seconds passed before realization struck him. She was asking for him to dance with her. He tore his eyes away from her fingers for a moment to glance at the other spinning elves as they danced about each other. He knew he could move with as much grace as any elf could but he was reluctant.

Glancing back at her emerald eyes, however, he felt his heart pound and before he knew it, he had reached up and took her hand allowing her to guide him out to the center. She glanced at him for a moment, moving her feet elegantly to the side, stepping away from him and in following in line with the dance, he moved about her, his heart pounding in his chest as he felt the soft skin of her hand on his. She blinked once at him and it was all he needed as he began to dance with Arya. It was as if they had danced many times before thought Eragon as he circled about her lithe form. In truth, he had danced with Arya many times before and doing so once more only brought back a great warmth within him. But she had never danced with him despite his memories of them twirling about each other during the Agaetí Blödhren and Roran's wedding.

As they danced, the tempo to which the quartet played bringing them apart only to return them to each other, he could not help but feel at ease. Off to the side, he caught sight of Rhunön staring at him once more with her curious expression but he made no thought of it as he took Arya's hand in his and easily danced about her watching as she smiled, showing her strong white teeth.

It was in that moment when he chanced a glance at her emerald eyes did he find himself frozen, forever remembering Arya's expression. Within time, her joyous expression would fade to be replaced with a stoic mask and her beautiful personality buried underneath years of practiced indifference. Though he fell in love with the Arya that was aloof and oftentimes uncaring, he could not help but wish that Arya would stay as pure and as innocent as she was before him. But he knew that was not so for when the day came that she dared stepped outside the safety of Du Weldenvarden, she was going to be exposed to the nightmare of the world about them.

And he could only hope that he would be there for her so that she could rely on him. They spun about each other once more and unbidden by him a faint smile stretched across his lips as he caught sight of the sparkle in her emerald eyes. He would forget in this one moment about his duty, about his life now and his past life and he would only focus on the maiden before him. For her happiness would be short-lived when she came to realize her decision in life, she would relinquish it so that she could live out her purpose for that was Arya Dröttningu, in his time and in this one.

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**And so the next chapter will have another time jump and it shall explain more of Eragon's and Arya's relationship to come and the possibilities that will lie in wait in the following chapters! So be anxious and waiting! If you are all confused don't forget to review or PM me and I shall try my best to alleviate and massive headaches that might occur thinking of this time travelling concept! Anyways, I hope to see you all soon! **


	8. Chapter 8

**And now for the time jump once more. Now I shall answer some questions brought up in the reviews. 1) There are originally 13 Forsworn but in the fighting on Doru Araeba, one of the 13 was killed when Thuviel turned his flesh to magic. (Glaerun was killed in the explosion therefore leaving only 12-and I have interesting ideas regarding the Forsworn). 2) One person mentioned the belt of Beloth the Wise...that shall be explained later...3) Angela shall appear frequently in this story. Now with those questions explained onward to another chapther! R&R!**

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The winter feast would be one of the many times in which he saw Arya. He had thought that she would merely attend to her own business after managing to force both he and Rhunön to attend the feast but she did not and it was evident when she came to visit him a week after while he was busy forging a helm, trying to utilize the knowledge he had learned thus far and give it physical representation. Stylizing the sides into pointed wings, he frowned as he took in his work. The helm was beautiful, more so than a regular helm. But there was something lacking about it that he bothered him.

Reaching out with his hands, he lifted the helm up turning it between his fingers as she tried to find exactly why it was he was so bothered by the helm. It was a far cry from Rhunön's work. But what did he expect? She had centuries in which to perfect her craft while he had only been learning for twelve years. Frowning, he sighed as he lowered the helm to the anvil dissatisfied with his work.

"Is there something amiss?"

He glanced up towards the source of the voice and felt his throat constrict and his heart start to pick up pace. Standing in the entryway into the open walled forge was Arya. There were flakes of snow on her cloaked shoulders and some dusting in her hair but she was exactly as Eragon had remembered her to be a week earlier. Remembering his mannerisms, he greeted her first and when they were done, she swept into the forge glancing around as if searching for something and when she did not find it, her eyes settled on him again.

"Is there something amiss?" Arya repeated.

He glanced down at the helm on the anvil and held it up for her to inspect. "I feel as if something is not right with the design," said Eragon as he watched her carefully study the helm in her hands. She stared at it for a long moment, her brows furrowed as she tried to see what it was that bothered him so much. Eventually, she handed the helm back to him.

"It is not shoddy work if that is what you are worried about," she said. He took the helm from her glad that she had approved of his work. It was not shoddy but it was not to elven standards yet, he was sure of that.

Placing the helm to the side to worry about later, he then brought forth his unfinished statue of Saphira to devote his time with. Grabbing a chisel and hammer from Rhunön's many tools, he turned to Arya curiously. "Is there something you needed?" asked Eragon wondering why she had come to seek him out once more. There couldn't be another feast that required his presence was there? Or perhaps another event of some sort that he needed attend else he would look ignorant?

He was worried about the possibilities until Arya spoke once more, "I was hoping that perhaps," she paused trying to gather her words and Eragon paused looking at her waiting for what she had to say. Then seemingly gathering her strength, she strengthened and said in a calm voice, "I was hoping that I could speak with you more about your time as a Dragon Rider."

He blinked in surprise at her words. He was not expecting her question nor did he expect her interest to be so great. Perhaps he was correct in believing that Arya had always wanted a life greater than what was given to her in the confines of Du Weldenvarden. Forgetting about the statue that rested on the anvil for a moment, he held her gaze trying to find something within her eyes that showed that the Arya he knew was still there, that she still existed. After a moment, Eragon nodded.

"If you would like to hear, I would not be bothered to tell you," said Eragon as a faint smile pulled at her lips. He glanced at the anvil. There was still several hours left before he was done with his work for the day in the forge. Contemplating what to do, Eragon glanced back at Arya.

She titled her head as she studied him, "I am not bothered to wait," she said resolving the situation for him. Glad that he did not have to turn her away, he motioned for her to take a seat on the bench on the opposite side of the workbench while he stood and worked. She did not bother him but did as he motioned which surprised him since he always knew Arya to be prideful and stubborn. Shaking away his nervousness at having Arya watch him as he worked, he picked up his hammer and chisel and began to shave away at the metal to continue carving the likeness of Saphira.

And for the coming nine years, Arya would come to him on days when she was not busy and speak to him. He had always thought that one day perhaps her answers might run dry or she would simply be satisfied with the answers that he gave her but those days never came. She always came back despite how annoyed Rhunön would end up whenever she caught sight of Arya within the forge. But the aged elf-smith never said a word for Arya did not come to bother but merely sit and observe. Eventually when Eragon's skills in metalwork began to show a side of expertise to them, she had begun to show him some suggestions particularly in an aesthetic view.

While he enjoyed his time spent with Arya whether it was a day in the week or simply an hour in day, he also enjoyed the opportunity to see her blossom into a beautiful person. Though the radiance of her youth began to fade away, there still was a stunning beauty to her that always left him dazed when he found himself staring too long at her. What was more was how wise she was beginning to become. Eighty years from now, she would become the wisest person he knew aside from Oromis and a select few others. Despite her still rather tender age in elven culture, Arya was very knowledgeable and intelligent.

However, what struck him the most was her curiosity and eagerness in the world about her. From the moment he had met her for the first time nine years ago, she had shown a great interest in the world about her and it only became clear to him when she began to ask him about his travels that she longed to see the rest of Alagaësia. Though he tried to fulfill her curiosity, he knew that there were some things that only she could find for herself. It was like Arya had said to him in his past, she was eager to explore and strike against Galbatorix. It appeared that Galbatorix's existence as well as his crimes against the Order and the races of Alagaësia were reason enough for Arya to want to pursue a future outside the forest.

While she was busy contemplating her own decision, Eragon was also preparing to leave Du Weldenvarden. Brom had finally given the mantle of leader to Weldon four years earlier after having led the Varden for only seven years so that he could chase after his heart's only desire as of presently: the death of the Forsworn, particularly Morzan. From what he heard, the Varden was now a stable force within the Beor Mountains after having moved from Surda to further themselves even more from Galbatorix and his Forsworn. In any case, it was time that he made his decision and join in the on the fighting. It had been a long twenty-one years in which he had sat idly by doing nothing but learning the craft of forging. Though he had come to enjoy spending his time in the forge crafting numerous objects from armor to weapons to beautiful sculptures, it was enough.

And that was why on one spring day, Eragon made his decision. Lowering the dagger that he was grinding to a fine point, Eragon turned to Rhunön as she was busy crafting gauntlets. He paused as he took in her appearance. Like Eragon, Rhunön was untouched by the twenty-one years that had passed. She appeared exactly as he had remembered her. The only passage of time were the numerous works that began to appear in her forge, a part of them belonged to Eragon while the majority were the works of Rhunön.

A moment passed and when she realized he was not working, she straightened from her hunched position over the anvil. The hammer in her hand was lowered as she stared at Eragon with a frown. "What is it?" she asked not bothering to be polite. Eragon smiled inwardly, glad once more by how blunt Rhunön was.

"There is a matter I wish to speak to you about Master Rhunön," said Eragon quietly and seriously. She blinked at him moving to lower her work tools but he shook his head. He did not want to hinder her work on account of himself, instead he said, "It can wait until we are done in the forge though. There is no need for you to stop on my account."

"Nonsense," said Rhunön with a scowl as she returned her tools to their rightful places in her forge. "I was ready to retire for the evening in any case." Highly doubting her words, Eragon could only nod as he went to mimic her as cleaned up the workbench. If there was one thing that Rhunön managed to impart to him over the years, it was the necessity of having an orderly forge. Understanding that necessity, Eragon had worked long and hard to adapt his ways in trying to keep orderly.

When the last of the tools were stowed away, the two of them retired to her humble house for Eragon to cook supper. Today, Arya had not come by. Slightly disappointed by the lack of her presence, he merely shook it from him. He had seen her quite frequently over the past nine years, it would not do him well to become dependent on her presence. After all, he was leaving soon and Arya would only join him in another decade's time. He doubted he would see her much the moment he decided to step outside of Du Weldenvarden. A great part of him feared that the moment he left, she would lose interest in the events occurring in Alagaësia. It was Eragon's only hope that she would remain curious and eager until the day she decided to take up the yawë and devote herself to her people.

Making a light supper for them that day which consisted of bread, soup, and fruits and vegetables with berries being the predominant ingredient, he took his seat before Rhunön. Lifting up his spoon, he began to eat his soup while she instead started to break apart her bread to eat. "Now what is it that you wanted to speak with me about?" asked Rhunön with narrowed eyes as if she was expecting foul news from him.

He paused as he went to scoop up another spoonful of soup. Brows furrowing for a moment as he tried to think of what to say, he decided that there was no other way for him to say it and instead he spoke rather forwardly. "I believe that it was time for me to leave Master Rhunön," said Eragon softly, his eyes focused on her face so that he could clearly see her reaction to his news.

She blinked, her eyes widening slightly to show her surprise before she schooled it into her usual scowl. "And abandon your apprenticeship?" asked Rhunön with her raspy voice. Eragon shook his head.

"Of course not," Eragon promised her sincerely. "Wherever my duties leads me, I shall always do my utmost to better my skills in forging. I shall not forget what you have thought me over the years and I shall always be grateful to Master Rhunön…but I believe now is the time that I take up my duties rather than turn away from them. I have had twenty-one years to sit idly by pursuing what interests me. That is enough time."

"And what is your duty?" asked Rhunön with hard eyes. He knew that her question was not to delve into his reasoning for leaving but to see whether or not he had the passion to commit himself to the long years that his duties would lead him to. If only she understood how long he waited so that he could finally come out of hiding and face Galbatorix even if it was not directly.

"As one of the remaining Riders left behind from the Fall, it is my duty to fight against Galbatorix and his Forsworn—to fight against his corrupt Empire," said Eragon, his hand clenching his spoon with great strength but he was forced to remind himself not to crush the delicate utensil within his hands, it would be a waste. "It is my duty to the fallen Order, to my loved ones, and to those who cannot fight but can only be swept away by their fate."

Rhunön did not say anything to his words but he saw a shine in her eyes as if she were proud of his words but it was gone as quick as he saw it and he doubted that he actually did see any sort of emotion in her aged irises. After a long moment, she sighed as she lowered the remainder of her bread to the plate. Then she reached for her spoon and quietly began to eat her soup.

A long time passed before she spoke once more, her voice somber, "I had always thought that there was a passion in you that was never made for forging," said Rhunön. "Though you excelled in learning, it appeared as if your soul longed to be elsewhere and now I understand." She paused before her eyes flickered to him and away from her soup momentarily. "You and Brom are very similar, the last two Riders robbed of their dragons and now seeking revenge for what was lost two decades ago."

At the mention of the comparison between him and Brom, his father, Eragon tensed afraid that Rhunön might have made a connection between the two of them. But she did not say more on the matter of Brom and instead continued, "The world Eragon is not like forging and yet in some aspects it is," said Rhunön as she pinned Eragon with a hard stare. "When we are given something that we are not satisfied with, we can take it and heat it, bend it, and weld it into our liking. That is forging. If you were to given me a block of steel, I shall in turn make it into the finest armor one can lay their eyes on. The same principal can be said of the world. You are given what fate deems to give you and it is your decision to how you want to apply it. Whether you use it for the better or the worst, the decision rest slowly upon your shoulders."

She paused and the crease between her brows deepened. "However, there are laws that nature has set that no being can go against, mortal or not. While smiths, when dissatisfied with the work they craft, can merely rework the unwanted product into something better, the same cannot be said for the workings of the world. There will be choices that you will have to make and even if you are unhappy with the outcomes, it is nigh impossible to redo it. That is why that when the time comes for you to leave, Eragon, you will understand a greater part of life apart from this forest and the forge in which you have been dedicating the past twenty-one years to."

While she spoke, he could not help but feel moved by her words and how they rang true and deep within him. Rhunön understood the workings of the world just as well as he did but a deeper meaning to her worlds struck a chord within him. She did not think much of second chances. No one thought much of second chances. And yet, here he was defying fate, defying nature for a second chance to redo things, to rework the fabric of history and of his reality eighty years from now. How would she feel if she found out that he was defying laws that she came to learn of herself in her life? Like always, it always made him anxious when he thought of their reactions to finding out the truth about him. Would Oromis look down on him? Would Rhunön scoff and turn her back? And most importantly, would Arya resent him?

The thought of it all just hurt too much so he pushed the feelings aside as he had been doing for the past twenty-one years and instead focused on Rhunön. "I shall keep your words deep in my heart," said Eragon as he held her gaze. "I will make sure that whatever I am given that I shall use it to the fullest. I…I will try to live without regrets." Unlike his original time, he had many regrets in his life and given this second chance, he would try to see to it that he would not hold any regrets. Regrets, Eragon came to understand, burdened the soul too strongly. It was almost impossible to escape when one was trapped in its icy grips.

She did not say anything else for the time being and when they were done eating and Eragon was making to return to Tialdarí Hall did she speak once more. "When is it that you shall depart?" asked Rhunön.

"As soon as I can once I have informed Evandar Könungr of my decision, I still must pay him and his house my respects and gratitude for allowing me asylum in Ellesméra," said Eragon suddenly feeling a profound sadness well up within him. He was not surprised to find himself already missing Rhunön's presence in his life. For the past two decades, she had been his companion in the forest of Ellesméra when he had none to find a companion in. Their odd eccentricities set them apart from others as well as their bluntness in speech and attitude. It would be hard to find another companion like Rhunön within the Varden for they would be short-lived humans or staunch and proud dwarves. He did not think he would be able to manage himself well with either race but he was going to try his best now that he thought about how lonely the years to come would be.

"I see," she withdrew into silence once more only to say a few minutes later in a stern voice, "That does not excuse you from coming to the forge to continue your apprenticeship. I shall only let you rest once the day comes that you shall depart from Ellesméra."

"Of course," he smiled slightly. He expected nothing less from Rhunön. Bidding her farewell, he turned and left. But as he did so he could not help but glance back at Rhunön watching as she took to the stairs of her house to the second landing. _She will be fine, _thought Eragon to himself, _she has lived without company for centuries. _Though he tried to reassure himself, he could not help but feel worried.

Trying to shake the thought from his mind as he walked through the brisk spring evening, Eragon sighed. He had never thought he would admit it but he was going to miss the beauty and serenity of the forest. There was a tranquility to Ellesméra that made it appear as if nothing was happening outside its boundaries. Yet, despite the atmosphere he could never find it in himself to fully enjoy his surroundings for he was constantly worried about the future. And now he was even more worried for his time to act had finally come. No longer was he going to sit and wait.

Taking in a deep breath, he continued to weave in and out between the trees towards Tialdarí Hall. As usual, he never made any point to wander about Ellesméra for he was usually tired by the end of his lessons with Rhunön and as natural to him, he was privy of his sleep. Approaching the archway, he waited for it to admit him entrance and when it did, he swept through. While he was making his way towards the common room, Eragon blinked as he caught sight of Evandar speaking with Islanzadí in the gardens, the two of them were observing the bloom of the flowers.

Seeing a chance for him to speak to the king about his thoughts, Eragon paused and after a brief moment of contemplation he strode forward. When he was within a few paces of the elf-king, Evandar glanced up at his approach and smiled in welcome while Islanzadí merely regarded him with curious eyes as if to see what it was that he could possibly want to interrupt her time with her mate. Stopping before the two of them, Eragon greeted them first showing the respect that was demanded from him. Once the traditional greetings were said and done, Evandar's gray eyes pierced him as he spoke.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your presence Eragon?" asked Evandar. "It is late and I believe that your lessons with Rhunön are finished for the day?"

"They are," confirmed Eragon. "I was returning from my lessons with her when fortune favored me." At a quirk of the king's brow, Eragon elaborate. "I was wishing to speak to you, Your Majesty. I had thought that perhaps I would have to enquire to an audience with you."

"There is no need for such for the both of us are here," said Evandar raising his hand to dismiss Eragon's worries. "Now what is it that you have need of my presence so urgently?"

Trying to find the right words to speak but failing, he decided to trust in his bluntness this time around. Sometimes there were matters that could not be spoken lightly. He was going to have to concede to that train of thought. "I have come to a decision as to what I wish to do with my life," said Eragon holding his ground to show to Evandar and Islanzadí that he would not easily relent. "I wish to leave Du Weldenvarden and join with the Varden in their struggles against Galbatorix."

In response to his words, King Evandar merely stared at him with interest while Islanzadí was gazing at him with apparent surprise. It was obvious that she had not thought that one day, Eragon would seek to step outside of the safeties of Ellesméra and face Galbatorix and his Forsworn once more. He may have acted placid for twenty-one years but that would end now. Enough was enough.

"And you are steadfast in your decision?" asked Evandar.

"Aye," Eragon nodded and he bowed to the two of to show his utmost respect for them. While they were also Arya's parents, Evandar was the one who had given him refugee in Ellesméra. The king had trusted Eragon on his actions alone and that was enough to earn Eragon's respect. And over the years he'd lived in Evandar's domain, he had come to see how fit of a king Evandar truly was. He was fair to his subjects and yet kind and generous despite his stern exterior. "I sought to see you, Your Majesty, so that I may express my gratitude to you for allowing me to stay as a guest of your house."

"And so you stayed as my guest but only due to your actions," said Evandar. "Had you not saved me back on the plains of Urû'baen, I would not be here to grant you asylum. It is fit repayment for what you have done for me and my people. Never forget that Eragon. Time does not wash away deeds, they only serve to cement it."

"Even so, you have been most kind to me," insisted Eragon as he straightened. "If there is any way that I may repay you, you have but to ask it of me and I shall see to it that I can. Yet, I doubt that there is little that I can give you."

"Your words are repayment enough," acknowledged Evandar kindly, his gray eyes peering at Eragon with a sense of approval. "You have finally sought out what it is that you desire. I can only say that it heartens me to know that someone of your fortitude and strength shall be joining in the fight against Galbatorix."

"I am humbled by your praise," murmured Eragon.

"When shall you leave Eragon-finiarel?" asked Islanzadí gazing at him with her dark emerald eyes. Eragon's eyes flickered to her as he thought of an answer to her question. He could leave in the early morn but a part of him did not want to leave yet. Not until he had a chance to see Arya once more. He would like an opportunity to say his farewell to her.

"By the end of this week," said Eragon giving himself three days to prepare for his journey to depart.

Evandar and Islanzadí exchanged startled looks. "So soon?" asked Evandar with a frown.

"There is no reason to tarry any more than I have these past years," said Eragon with a nod. "If I do not leave now, I shall never know if I will have the strength to do so later. I hope you would forgive me in my haste."

"It is forgiven," said Evandar once more showing to Eragon how kind of a king he could be. The three of them stood there for a moment before Islanzadí spoke next.

"If you would allow us Eragon-finiarel, we would like to give you're a steed to ride until you reach the outskirts of Du Weldenvarden and the needed provisions for your journey to the Beor Mountains," she turned to Evandar and once more Eragon began to think that they were speaking to each other in the depths of their mind. He fought the urge to frown. For twenty-one years, he dared not open his mind to another and in that solitude of time, it was odd to think of doing so once more.

"You are too kind," Eragon replied in responses to Islanzadí's offer. She nodded, pleased by his words.

Evandar regarded him for a moment longer before he gestured towards the common room. "It is late and I believe that you wish to prepare for your journey Eragon. You may leave without any worries of us delaying your nor of repayment for our kindness."

"Thank you," he bid them farewell and did as Evandar said returning to the quarters in which he had lived in for twenty-one years to prepare for his trip. But truth be told, there was not much to prepare seeing as he did not have that much in his possession to begin with. But that night was one of the first in which he felt the sudden excitement of finally returning to his one purpose in life that he only knew: the defeat of Galbatorix. There was a great deal of anxiety that accompanied his excitement though for he would be alone in his fight. He would be struggling against a tide so fierce that it might suffocate him in the end.

_If father can do it, so can I, _thought Eragon determined. Brom had managed to personally kill three of the Forsworn, including the most powerful, Morzan, and had arranged the deaths of five others. His father fought a war without strength but his intelligence and knowledge, the latter being one that Eragon possessed greatly.

_There was no reason to be deterred by the future. _

Believing in his thoughts, Eragon decided to retire for the day. He was tired enough. The following morning, he did as Rhunön asked and returned to the forge. The two of them worked as if it were any normal day. They did not mention his leaving but rather continued his apprenticeship as if he was going to live the rest of his life out in Ellesméra. Glad for her tact, he was still disappointed when he saw no sight of Arya at the forge that day. Perhaps she was busy. The disappointment soon turned to a longing when the next day came and she had not yet shown. With a heavy heart, he made his way back to Tialdarí Hall.

But rather than returning to his chambers, he instead made his way to the gardens. Navigating through the innumerous amounts of flowerbeds, he came to a stop by the white rose bush taking in the flowers as they bloomed in the spring time. They were truly beautiful thought Eragon as he reached out to let his fingers glide over the petals. Staring at them, he felt a sudden sadness well up within him. He was leaving. He was once more leaving what he came to know for else. It was upsetting and yet overwhelming.

_Come to think of it,_ thought Eragon as he finger a rose petal, _I have lived in this time longer than my own. How odd it is to think of it as such. _

Blinking to himself, he sighed. With one last look at the white roses, he straightened ready to return to his quarters. Tomorrow he would leave Ellesméra. Turning to leave, Eragon blinked when he caught sight of Arya making her way from deep within the compound towards the entrance. When she caught sight of him, she blinked faltering in her path. Did she know he was leaving?

His question was answered when she changed directions. Instead of moving to leave, she turned and made her way over to him. Rather than wearing a kirtle of ebony laced with emerald as she did when he last saw her, she was wearing a tunic of rustic emerald cinched at the waist with a golden sash that made the attire look feminine.

When she was directly before him, Eragon touched his two fingers to his lips. She returned the gesture. "Where was it that you were heading?" asked Eragon curiously when they were finished. She blinked and he thought he saw a tinge of embarrassment on her face before it was gone. What could that have possibly been?

"It matters not now," said Arya as she gazed upon him. He could only stare back feeling his heart pound in his chest. No matter how many times he gazed upon Arya, he would always feel tremendously for her. He raised a brow at her but nodded, leaving the matter. She glanced at him and the white rose bush and raised a brow curiously. "Your favorite?"

Eragon nodded. "They mean much to me."

As he expected she did not question him any further on the meaning white roses held to Eragon and he was glad that she didn't. He was unsure of how he would have responded to her. The two of them stood in silence merely observing the flowers but he did not complain for it gave him the chance to commit Arya's appearance to heart, not that it was difficult for him to do so. But as he stared at her, a great part of him longed for his Arya. Over the nine years it had become increasingly difficult to think of little else apart from Arya as he remembered her. He wanted to view them as the same person but it was too difficult.

"I heard word that you are leaving tomorrow," said Arya quietly.

"I am," affirmed Eragon. "I believe that I have stayed far too long."

"It is not as if you are unwelcomed here," murmured Arya causing Eragon to smile.

"No it is not, Evandar Könungr has been very generous," agreed Eragon watching as slight hint of pride entered Arya's eyes. If there was one thing he learned over the nine years of speaking with Arya, it was that she greatly admired her father. It was endearing in a way. "But it will bode ill of me if I overdid my stay."

"You are leaving to join the Varden?"

"Yes, I have decided that now is the time for me to fight," said Eragon. "It is my duty to those who have fallen under Galbatorix…to the whole of Alagaësia."

Her emerald eyes narrowed and he could tell that she was thinking over his words trying to make sense of them in the context of her own life. Whether or not she would act, it would take time for Arya to come to her decision. "Is it merely because of duty?"

"A great part of it is," said Eragon quietly as he turned to stare at the white roses. Then he reached down and gently plucked one from the rose bush. With magic, he began to remove its thorns. When he was done, he lifted it up to gaze at underneath the dim light of the flameless lanterns. "The forest of Du Weldenvarden is beautiful without a doubt but I want to see more of the world. I want to see the rest of Alagaësia aside from the luscious pines here. In this world, Arya, there are flaming waters, frosty lands, and stone forests. There exist a world with many sights to behold and yet to be beholden. And the person to behold all of these sights will become the freest person in the world." He took a deep breath breathing in the scent of crushed pine needles as he turned to Arya with a soft smile. "We are born to this world and it is our right that we are allowed to see the sights that it can give to us. Do not let anyone tell you otherwise."

In his speaking, he had taken a step closer to Arya so that he could gaze down at her. If he took two steps closer he could wound his arms about her and pull her into an embrace but he did not for he did not have that right, not with this Arya. Instead, he permitted himself to stare at Arya taking in her contemplative expression and her blazing emerald eyes.

"I think…that perhaps I understand how you feel," said Arya softly as she tilted her head up to pin him under her stare.

He nodded, fidgeting for a moment before he slowly held the white rose in his hand out to her. Her expression soon turned to surprise. "I hope you will accept this white rose," said Eragon quietly, "as a symbol of our friendship over the past nine years."

The surprise slowly faded away to show a smile as she reached out to take the rose from him her soft fingers brushing against his hand causing tingles to race up his arm. He watched as she gently held the rose, lifting it up to smell. "Thank you, I am glad to call you my friend, Eragon," he could only smile at her as she lowered the white rose. "These past nine years, your stories alone have created a world that I long to see."

"And perhaps you will," said Eragon watching as her eyes shined.

"Perhaps I will," said Arya. She paused before asking, "Before you leave tomorrow, will you indulge me in another story of your travels?"

"If you are not busy then I shall," said Eragon, "And I hope that when the time comes that I return to Du Weldenvarden that I may have more stories to tell you."

As they went to find the common room so that they could speak, Eragon could not help put glance at the white rose in her hand and back to the garden that lacked Black Morning Glories. For some reason, despite the pleasure of knowing that he had been no doubt one of the few first to offer Arya a flower—a sign of great importance in elven tradition—he could not help but feel upset. Had it not been for Alagaësia, Fäolin would have been the first to have given her flowers and to have sung her a bed of Black Morning Glories. The importance of his gifts to Arya were not lost on Eragon but he was glad that he had yet to see any of the black flowers that Arya cherished in his future.

However, when the day came that they did appear in the gardens he did not know what he would do. Unwilling to think about it, he turned back to Arya as he followed her his eyes wandering to the white rose that she held in her hands. For now though, she had accepted his white rose and that was enough.

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**There are several reasons as to why I skipped over the nine years of Eragon bonding with Arya, one being that it was difficult to write OC Arya, and my second biggest reason shall be explained in the chapters to come. However, we are finally picking up pace. Eragon is finally leaving for the Varden and things are going to get real...In any case I'm excited especially for when Eragon will eventually meet Angela, Rosalie, and a member of the Forsworn...Oh the liberty of having great freedom when it comes to the Forsworn apart from Morzan! I can't wait to write the chapters to come! Anyways, I hope to see you all soon! **


	9. Chapter 9

**It took longer than usual but here is the next chapter everyone. Enjoy! R&R! **

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Glancing about, Eragon sighed taking in the lush pine trees once more. He did not know when time would allow him to return to Ellesméra for there was too much to be done with the Varden. Riding atop the proud stallion that Islanzadí had ordered to be prepared for him, he thought back to early morn when he went to depart from Ellesméra. He had not expected to be seen off personally but he was by Rhunön as well as Evandar Könungr and his family, including Arya. As he rode atop the noble, white stallion by the name of Beren, he could not help but recall his parting words with those whom he came to know.

"Dressed as you are, you resemble more of a warrior than a smith," said Rhunön as she regarded Eragon with narrowed eyes. Rather than wearing a tunic, he wore a light colored jerkin and dark hosen pants with drawstrings. A belt was strapped about his waist to hold Brisingr against his left hip while Vrangr was strapped to his back. On his hands he wore dark leather gloves that matched the leather boots that King Evandar's house gifted to him for his journey.

"I shall take that as a compliment," said Eragon with a smile as Rhunön merely grunted as if she could care less how he perceived her words and perhaps she didn't. In any case, all Eragon could do was smile at her, he did not want to be short with Rhunön on his leave taking. There was no room for his foul personality despite the earliness of the day. He did not want to leave on a sour note. "In any case, I do not believe I resemble the part of a smith well."

"Perhaps," Rhunön conceded to him. Her eyes flickered past him and towards the trees of Du Weldenvarden. "In any case, warrior or smith, you must be aware of your surroundings no matter where you are. Strange thinks lurk in the shadows, Eragon."

"I understand," he nodded, taking her word to heart. He was about to say more but then three figures appeared from behind the tremendous trunks of the pine trees and he felt his heart soar at the sight of Arya. When their eyes connected, she spared him a slight smile but it did not necessarily reach her eyes and for a moment Eragon was worried.

He waited until they stopped before him and he greeted them, once he was finished, Evandar nodded to him. "You look fit to travel," observed the king just as Rhunön had done moments earlier. "It is a fitting look for you."

"Thank you," said Eragon his eyes flickering away from Arya to rest on the elf-king. "And thank you for preparing Beren and the provisions for my travel. It shall make my journey from Du Weldenvarden to the Beor Mountains much easier."

"I have sent word of your arrival to the Varden so that they may not mistake you for an enemy," said Evandar. Eragon nodded once more voicing his gratitude. After exchanging a few words, Evandar turned to Islanzadí with a smile. She returned it slightly and then reached up to hand him a small object that Eragon could not make out. "There is a gift that I and my house would like to bestow upon you, Eragon." He opened his hand and held forth a ruby ring with the symbol of the yawë engraved in the stone. Eragon blinked recognizing the ring as the same one which Brom had worn when he had first met his father in his original time. "Because of the aid that you have rendered to my family, I now name you Elf Friend and bestow this ring, Aren, upon you, so that all elves, wherever you go, will know that you are to be trusted and helped. And so that when you desire it, you may always be granted entry into Ellesméra."

He stared at the ring in apparent shock as did Rhunön and Arya. The two of them had not expected the gesture of trust like Eragon did not expect. As he stared at the ruby ring, he could not help but feel an overwhelming sense of despair grip at him. The ring was meant for his father but he had taken away that right. A few seconds passed and not wanting to seem rude, Eragon bowed and accepted the ring with murmured words of gratitude. Then so that they may see, he slid the ring onto his left hand.

"It is a symbol that we have not used in centuries," explained Islanzadí at his still shocked expression. "For there are little to have proven themselves a friend of our race. Wear Aren with pride, Eragon-finiarel."

"I shall do as you say," promised Eragon feeling the weight of the ring on his finger. It would serve as a reminder for what once was and what will not be any longer. Trying to think of the world as it was, he felt a deep sense of loss within him.

Letting Beren lead the way through the thick pine trees and the different paths, he trusted the proud stallion and its sense of direction. It truly was a noble creature and Beren only served to remind him of Saphira who was more noble and intelligent than any other creature he had come across. The rest of the conversation with Evandar and Islanzadí was short but what caused the ache in his chest was the rather formal and short farewell that Arya bid him with. She had said a few words and had wished him good fortune on his journey, nothing more. It was not that he was expecting anything more from her especially since they were before her parents but it still stung. Had it been his Arya, she would have embraced him warmly and sweetly kissed him.

_You need to stop comparing them, _Eragon told himself fiercely. If he continued to think of them as two different people, it would only serve to confuse him even more.

Still, despite the short farewells, it touched him. Closing his eyes, he thought of the twenty-one years that he had lived in Ellesméra. Despite the great length of time he spent in the elven capital, it had never become a home to him. And now here he was once more wandering for the sake of duty. This Alagaësia was not his home anymore. At least not yet in any case.

Shaking the thought from his mind, he instead stared ahead as Beren galloped through the forest finding the safest and shortest route that would lead him out of Du Weldenvarden so that he could travel to the Beor Mountains.

Traveling for most of the day, Eragon only stopped when Beren needed rest. He did not want to overwork the white stallion and nor did he want to offend it by treating it like a slave to his bidding. Allowing Beren to graze on the grass, he went to set up camp for the night making sure not to make too bright of a fire to attract unwanted attention. And as he sat there, he took a moment to study Aren. His father wore Aren constantly during his time. He paused thinking of how Brom had once told him that for the past decade and some years, he had stowed away a tremendous amount of energy into the ruby of the ring.

He could possibly store energy into Aren if he deemed fit but over the past twenty-one years he had already been storing plenty of energy into the sapphires that adorned the pommels of both Brisingr and Vrangr. Staring at Aren for a moment longer, he nodded to himself. It would not hurt to store energy into Aren as well. It would certainly ease his tasks if he were to ever need to use the energy stored in his ruby ring. Thinking on it for a moment longer, Eragon sighed before stretching out on the ground to sleep. It had been quite a long day.

Sleep did not come easily and when it did, it barely felt as if he had closed his eyes for a few minutes before the insistent trilling songs of the mockingbirds nearby pulled him away. Used to waking early for the past twenty-one years, Eragon tiredly came to his feet pulling his left arm outward causing a feeling of relief to course through his left shoulder as he popped the muscle. He may have woken early for twenty-one years but that did not mean that he enjoyed doing so.

"Have you slept?" Eragon asked Beren. The white stallion was lying on the ground, curled up as it waited for him to ready for the day's traveling.

Beren merely snorted at his question before moving to his feet, tossing his head as if to tell Eragon that they had a long day of traveling ahead of them. Amused at the nobility of his steed, he began to pack up his things. As he moved to do so, there was a soft thud on the grass and he glanced down to find his glass orb with his rose embedded in it lying before him.

Reaching down, Eragon gently picked the glass orb up between his hands to study to the rose that was embedded inside. He thought about the rose and unbidden by him a memory so long ago washed back onto the surface of his mind.

_"There is a place I would like to show you once we invade the Empire," Eragon waited as Arya spoke, his mind at ease with her presence. "Murtagh and I found it and there is a gift awaiting you there."_

_"A gift?"_

_"Yes," she sat beside him. Eragon instinctively turned to her. Though he may be inexperienced in the areas of intimacy, lately his mind had instructed him in multiple ways on how to approach Arya. All of which seemed to work. He leaned forward to kiss her for a brief moment reminding himself of her exquisite taste before pulling away. Then she began to explain to him the spirits that came to her and Murtagh at night and the golden rose that was bestowed upon them out of their gratitude towards Eragon._

_"When we get the chance, I would like to show it to you."_

_"And I would like to see it."_

"I will never see it now," murmured Eragon as he turned the orb in his hand causing the rays of sunlight to become distorted about the glass object. After admiring it for a moment, Eragon sighed and carefully placed the glass orb in his saddle bags before saddling the bags onto Beren. Making sure that the stallion was comfortable, he easily mounted the horse.

"Ready?" asked Eragon patting the strong neck of the white stallion beneath him. Beren snorted. "Then let us depart." Immediately upon saying the command in the ancient language, Beren galloped off seemingly find his own way amongst the many trees before them. Trusting in the white stallion, Eragon could only let the noble horse guide him through Du Weldenvarden.

Alone in the solitude of his own mind and away from Ellesméra, he thought once more of his past life. The golden rose that Arya had once described to him no longer existed on Alagaësia. He would never be able to see it as he had once wished. Nothing of his past life remained anymore. There was no evidence to even show that he lived his life a hundred years from now. At times, he wondered if he was delusion. He saw two different worlds—two different halves of Alagaësia in which the same people lived but differently. He saw a vengeful Arya, a proud and dutiful Nasuada, a sacrificing Murtagh, an imperious Islanzadí, and much more. And now they were different. And then there was him, Eragon and no one else. He could not claim to be anything when his history had not happened.

His traveling to the Varden only served to reinforce the fact even more.

It was going to be odd not to see Nasuada as the leader of the Varden thought Eragon. In his view, his liege lord was a notable commander and a very capable leader. She understood how to lead and how to do so efficiently and effectively. There were times when there was a strain on the Varden but for the most part Nasuada's intelligence had helped bring the organization through. He remembered vividly how she managed to fund the war effort merely through the trade of lace. Truly, there was no one better fit to command the Varden and he knew that had he lived on in his original time that Nasuada would have made a fine queen.

But that was about eighty years from now. Currently Weldon was leading the Varden and he had been leading for some time now—five years—and would continue to do so for two decades before Deynor succeeded him. Then Deynor would lead the Varden for some time and when his command was done, Ajihad would the next leader. Then after his death, Nasuada would become the next leader. He could only wonder if the line of leaders would remain as it was. Though he heard little of the leaders before Ajihad, he had a vague idea of their personalities and practices. Weldon, he heard, was very capable as well as strong and steadfast meanwhile Deynor was more dependent on others and that would lead him to accepting the Twins in order to give a stronger base for magicians in the Varden. At the thought of the Twins, Eragon's eyes narrowed. He was going to hope that he lived long enough to prevent the two traitors from joining ranks with the Varden. Hopefully, he would be able to make a situation in which there would be no need for the Twins. Frowning to himself, he stared ahead as Beren continued to gallop through the forest.

It took another day before he had managed to make it to the edge of Du Weldenvarden and when he did, he bid Beren farewell. They had passed the city of Ília Fëon a few hours before and now they were standing on the outskirts of the lush green forest where the pine trees were much younger. "You can make it back to Ellesméra on your own?" asked Eragon as he shouldered his pack on his back, stroking the stallion's muzzle. Beren snorted and stared down at him with his intelligent eyes. "Thank you for guiding me out of Du Weldenvarden, Beren. It was an honor to ride you."

The stallion released a huff of air through his nostrils and then nudged Eragon in the direction of the Beor Mountains. "Yes, I know," said Eragon patting Beren once more. "Take care Beren. Perhaps, I shall have the honor of riding you once more."

Beren lingered for a moment before he turned and galloped away into the forest. Staring back at the stallion, he sighed. Shifting his pack on his back once more, Eragon turned and began to make his way out of Du Weldenvarden. Having already said his farewells to the forest and its inhabitants a few days earlier, he straightened and left the cool shade of the pine trees as he made his way out onto the flat expanse before him with the Edda River to his left.

Traveling by himself turned out to be a rather lonely affair. Even Beren's company was sorely missed as he traveled the flat lands with the Hadarac Desert to one side and the river to the other. There was not one encounter with another traveler. For why would there be? No human would stray so far away from civilization. Glancing up at the sky as he ran, he frowned. It had been twenty-one years since he had taken flight in the sky. There was once a time when nothing was out of his reach—the land, the sky, the water—now, however, he truly felt constrained and restricted. To only be able to wander the land frustrated him. There was a freedom to flying that walking could never offer or come close to offering.

The day wore on and the more he traveled, the smaller the mass that was Du Weldenvarden became behind him. On the fourth day of traveling he could not see past the flat horizon of land. The only constant was the flowing river beside him. It was a silent companion in his travels and he found himself listening to the quiet whisper of the rushing water. It was as if it was speaking to him and in that time he acquainted himself with the river, he thought of history and the stream of consciousness.

Time was like a river thought Eragon deeply aware of his surroundings as he ran. It flowed continuously. The past became the present and the present the future. It was like they were all one. And yet, he managed to disrupt the flow. By traveling back in time, he was creating waves in the flow. His eyes darted to Aren. His father would not be wearing the ruby ring anymore and that alone was one disruption to the timeline. He could only fathom as to what more would change.

Allowing his thoughts to wander since he was completely alone, he thought about his life and his past life. Did he really lose anything? He had been contemplating that particular question for years on end. How could he lose something when he never had it to begin with? He did not have Arya's affection yet in this time. Saphira had not hatched for him. His parents had yet to meet and he was not yet born. Nasuada was not born yet and therefore he never had a liege lord. Circles upon circles—that was what time was. He could only hope that the more time he spent up to the point where he was reborn, he would be able to explain how Alagaësia had done what she did.

It wasn't until his seventh day of traveling outside of Du Weldenvarden did he reach one of the dwarves' tunnels. He had passed by the city of Tarnag to find it abandoned. It was understandable seeing how it was situated above ground and out in the open. He had heard from Orik that during the time the Forsworn existed, the dwarf cities above ground were often terrorized by the Forsworn that flew through the Beor Mountains. Therefore in order to save themselves, they had to abandon their cities and move underground where they were safe within their tunnels which were near impossible to find if one had not visited the tunnels originally beforehand or without the use of magic.

Having traveled through Tarnag and several tunnels that led to the city, Eragon had information on how to travel to Farthen Dûr without the need for help. Lifting his hand, he murmured quietly, "Naina," a bright sapphire werelight came into existence in his palm. Lifting the orb upwards, he pushed it forward gently allowing it to position itself in the air before him creating a small radius of dim light.

Peering into the darkness, he blinked. He did not like the idea of shrouding himself in an enclosed space since it limited his abilities to fight and nor did he like familiarizing himself with the darkness once more but it seemed as if it was his life now. With a frown, he stepped over the threshold into the darkness leaving behind the bright surroundings as he did so.

Traveling in utter darkness and in uniform expanse was even more unsettling than traveling on empty terrain. Being enclosed underground made him feel as if he was being buried alive by the Menoa Tree once more. Never before had he felt so isolated from life. Was this what death was like? Perhaps it would have felt like this or perhaps not. He would never know and gladly, he was better off not knowing. He had denied death twenty-one years ago and he was not keen on returning to such an experience.

And then as if unable to help himself, he thought of his time. Was it still flowing without him? Or had it been destroyed altogether? It was a question that bothered him. What was more was the part of Arya that still lived within him—that was still a part of his soul. It had always been his silent companion in the last two decades but he couldn't help but worry that _his _Arya was living a life without him. If she was still alive and if she still did exist, was she in pain? Was she still grieving? Hoping that one day they might be reunited, Eragon felt his heart tear. If there was some sort of divine power out there he could only wish that one day, he would be given one more chance to see her and to tell her how sorry he was that he couldn't keep his promises to her.

He had always thought about it as his loss but he knew now that it was also his loved ones' loss as well. The only difference was that he was given a second chance while they weren't. They would never grow to live out their lives as they should and in that instance, it wasn't Eragon who lost the most but it was them. As his leather boots softly made contact with the dirt ground, he reached up to lay a hand over his chest where his heart laid beating underneath.

For as long as he lived he would carry their loss with his and one day, he would atone for it. With that thought in mind, he shifted his pack once more and straightened before continuing his run through the large and open tunnel. As he ran, his mind wandered back to the time he spent in Ellesméra once more due to the fact that he had nothing else to think about and after spending several days deep in morbid thoughts about his original time, he did not want to wallow away anymore.

Already, he was wishing that he was back at Rhunön's forge merely basking in Arya's presence when she came to visit him or when she spoke to him. How was she faring? Would she be lonely just as he was? As an answer to his question he felt another memory fight its way to the forefront, one he did not appreciate in the slightest for when it came it always left behind bitter feelings.

_"It was not always so," she whispered quietly after a moment's hesitation. "Once, I had someone to talk to, someone who understood who I was and where I came from…He was older than I, but we were kindred spirits both seeking the world outside our forest, eager to explore and strike out against Galbatorix. Neither of us could bear the thought of staying in Du Weldenvarden to pursue our interests when we knew the Dragon Killer, the bane of the Riders, was searching for a way to conquer our race. I had already assumed my position as an ambassador for my people decades before he came to the same conclusion as I…but the moment he did, he volunteered to accompany me wherever my duties might take me," she blinked, her emerald eyes bright. "I wasn't going to let him, but the queen liked the idea, and he was very convincing…" Arya pursed her lips unable to continue._

_His voice was gentle as he spoke, "Was it Fäolin ?"_

_Her answer left her lips as a gasp, "Yes."_

_"Did you love him?"_

_"Did I love Fäolin ? How would you describe love? For twenty years, we traveled together, the only immortals to walk among the short-lived races. We were companions…and friends."_

"Companions…and friends," muttered Eragon underneath his breath once more feeling a dangerous pang of jealousy in his chest. He did not want to doubt Arya's words but the fairth that she had of Fäolin in her chambers was rather hard to pinpoint as an act of friendship. If the only other fairth wasn't of her father he would never have questioned it. But it was clear to him that Evandar and…Fäolin , however grudgingly he wanted to admit it, were important figures in her life. One was her father…and the other was…was…

"A friend," Eragon repeated unbelieving.

If he ever was bestowed another chance to meet Arya once more he was going to ask her what _friends _meant. After a moment, he scoffed to himself. There was no need for him to feel jealous or bitter. In the end he had received her affections.

_Only because Durza killed Fäolin , _a voice within his mind reminded him. _You do not know if Arya will have any affection to spare for you if Fäolin is about contending for it was well. _

He frowned and then he grudgingly had to agree with those words. He did not know for certain if his feelings for Arya would ever be given a second glance with how Fäolin was still alive. _That is pathetic, _Eragon thought to himself heatedly, _she did not simply love you just because she had no other option. _Content to with his argument, he pushed the idea of Arya and Fäolin from his mind and continued onward. If he kept thinking too much, he would end up severely giving himself a headache as well as a foul mood.

And it was well known that he never bode well on a foul mood. There was also the fact that he did not want to be presented to the Varden as an irritable ally.

After what felt like days when it was no doubt had been hours that he had been running with short breaks in between, the pathway of the tunnel ended to show a pair of gigantic doors—thirty feet tall—and closed in case of unwanted guests. He stared at the doors shifting his werelight so that he could take a better look at the product of the dwarves' engineering and craft. It was the same as he had remembered it. After a long moment of standing there and waiting, he decided to make his presence known. Unsure of how exactly to announce his presence, he merely reached forward and slammed the flat of his palm into the gate causing a resounding noise to erupt in the silence of the tunnel which seemed to amplify it even more.

He waited for a few minutes before using magic to make his voice loud. "I am an ally of the Varden," hopefully whoever was guarding the door would allow him passage. "I come from Du Weldenvarden. Allow me passage for I mean your people no harm."

Silence met his answer as he removed the enchantment on his voice. He waited for a moment and was prepared to make another attempt before he heard the near silent groan of gears before the doors began to inch open smoothly and a loud and gruff voice called out to him.

"Proceed forward slowly and hold your hands up showing us your palms," the unseen man ordered.

Having no choice but to do what was asked of him, Eragon slowly made his way forward holding his hands up making sure his palms were facing forward so that they could see the gedwëy ignasia on his right palm. He trusted that King Evandar spoke true to his words when he told the Varden and the dwarves about his arrival to Farthen Dûr. Walking through the small gap that was made for him, he only traveled a few paces inward before the gears turned once more and the doors closed, cutting off a path of escape for him.

He heard the shuffling of feet and then two dwarfs were standing before him. They bore a war axe that hung from a wide leather belt strapped around their waists and atop their heads sat an iron-bound ox hide cap, bearing the symbol of a hammer surrounded by twelve stars.

They were from the Dûrgrimst Ingeitum, Orik's clan or rather King Hrothgar's clan seeing as the dwarf king had yet to perish from the blow dealt by Jeremiah. Making no move to give them any reason to distrust him, Eragon spoke once more, "I believe King Evandar has contacted Weldon and King Hrothgar about my arrival to Farthen Dûr."

"What is your name?" one of the dwarves asked keeping one hand over the handle of his axe.

"Eragon," he answered politely introducing himself.

The two guards turned to each other exchanging words in their rough dwarvish language. After a few moments, they turned back to him once more. The guard that had spoken before nodded to him, "Wait while I fetch an escort."

_At least they were being cautious of who they admitted into their realm, _thought Eragon as he tentatively lowered his hands watching as one of the stout guards ambled off towards one of the archways in the distance. The other remained behind, keeping a trained eye on Eragon. But despite the obvious caution that they were treating him with it appeared that the dwarf was quite curious as to Eragon's overall appearance in Farthen Dûr. He was possibly the first elf—if one could call him an elf—that had been seen outside of Ellesméra since the fall of the Riders. His exotic appearance made him stand out against the other races.

While the dwarves were stout and sturdy and humans a bit fairer but albeit rugged, the term _fair folk _could be used to describe Eragon with accuracy. "You were a Rider?" the dwarf nodded towards his blades, his eyes traveling from Brisingr to Vrangr.

"I was," agreed Eragon. He could tell from the dwarf's eyes that he was fairly interested in the two magnificent blades but he made no move but to act on his interest.

After waiting for a few minutes, the earlier guard returned with an entourage of six dwarf guards all bearing shields with the symbol of Dûrgrimst Ingeitum embedded on the metal. The captain turned to Eragon and said in a deep voice, "If you would follow us elf," ignoring the rather short tone that the captain spoke in, Eragon nodded and made to follow while the other dwarves arranged themselves about him careful to keep him under their eyes.

Though it was a warmer welcome than when he first joined the Varden in his original time, there was still an air of distrust as the dwarf captain began to lead him through the tunnels towards the city of Tronjheim where he would meet with Weldon. Already, as he walked in their midst, he felt a sense of purpose return to him. It was here that he would built his new future.

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**I don't have much to say apart from the fact that I'm exhausted. (Engineering is not an easy field I tell you all!) But I'm glad I had some time to get around to this chapter. I couldn't stand putting it off for too long. Anyways, since I want to turn in for the day, I'll cut the note short here. I hope to see you all soon! **


	10. Chapter 10

**Let's move along people, move along. (Standard Disclaimer: Inheritance=CP. I borrowed the descriptions of Tronjheim from Eragon since I didn't know how to describe the mountain city). Also to answer the question brought forth in the review. The reason why Eragon was made elf-friend was because Evandar knew that Eragon was not truly an elf. When he gave him no title or house name in his introduction it kind of hinted that perhaps Eragon was not fully elf. And because of this, Eragon might have trouble moving between the wards of Ellesméra (which I tend for him to visit) thus by having Aren, he would be able to return to Ellesméra without difficulty. Catch my drift? Anyways, R&R!**

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Though he had never truly felt at ease with any particular race, he felt the stinging difference between him and the others about him and could not help but feel as if he was stranger in a stranger's land. Was this how Arya felt? She had wandered alone for nearly fifty years in the midst of the other races, isolated from her own kind. What she had felt was no doubt close to what he was feeling at the moment. He was a black sheep amongst their company. They did not trust him, he could deduce that simple fact easily. From the stares that he received from the dwarves, it was obvious that they held a slim trust—if there was any trust to start with—for elves.

Still, despite the mixture of awed, disdainful, and unwelcomed stares, he kept his head high. He had been so used to having a position of authority and trust that it somewhat unnerved him to be thought of otherwise. "We were not expecting you to arrive so soon," the captain turned, his eyes glancing back at Eragon, scrutinizing the Rider.

"Traveling was a simple affair," said Eragon, trying his best to sound polite rather than indifferent as was common of him. He had to remember that though he was in King Evandar's good graces, the Varden and the dwarves knew nothing about him. All they saw him as was a Rider that once was and an elf.

They stopped before thick marble pillars laced with rubies and amethysts standing in rows along the walls with scores of lanterns that hung between the pillars, suffusing the air with liquid brilliance. Gold tracery gleamed from the pillars' bases like molten thread and arching over the ceiling were carved raven heads, their beaks open in mid-screech. At the end of the hallway rested two colossal black doors, accented by shimmering silver lines that depicted a seven-pointed crown that spanned both sides.

The captain moved forward after a brief pause in their walk and without warning, the doors swung outward on hidden joints. As the rift widened between them, rays of sunlight streamed into the tunnel, falling on Eragon and his escorts. Temporarily blinded, Eragon blinked and squinted. When his eyes adjusted to the light, he found himself staring at a scene that felt like a lifetime ago.

They were inside a massive volcanic crater. Its walls narrowed to a small ragged opening so high above that Eragon could not judge the distance—it might have been more than a dozen miles. But he knew from personal experience that it was a lengthy distance to the top opening. A soft beam of light fell through the aperture, illuminating the crater's center, though it left the rest of the cavernous expanse in hushed twilight.

The crater's far side, hazy blue in the distance, looked to be nearly ten miles away. Giant icicles hundreds of feet thick and thousands of feet long hung leagues above them like glistening daggers. Farther down the crater's inner walls, dark mats of moss and lichen covered the rock.

He lowered his gaze and saw a wide cobblestone path extending from the doors' threshold. The path ran straight to the center of the crater, where it ended at the base of a snowy-white mountain that glittered like an uncut gem with thousands of colored lights. It was less than a tenth of the height of the crater that loomed over and around it, but its diminutive appearance was deceiving, for it was slightly higher than a mile.

Long as it was, the tunnel had only taken them through one side of the crater wall. As Eragon stared, he felt a deep sense of nostalgia overwhelm him. Mistaking his contemplative look the captain spoke, "Look well, elf, for none of your kind has set eyes upon this for nigh over centuries. The airy peak under which we stand is Farthen Dûr—discovered thousands of years ago by the father of our race, Korgan, while he tunneled for gold. And in the center stands our greatest achievement: Tronjheim, the city-mountain built from the purest marble." The doors grated to a halt.

He already knew what the captain had told him. He had visited Tronjheim before and thus the sight of the underground city did not awe and impress him overly much but he did nothing to show such insight to the dwarves that escorted him. Instead he nodded, appearing once more as polite as he could be. "You have built a beautiful city," said Eragon.

Seemingly approving of his words, the captain motioned to his comrades and they began to move forward once more. Proceeding along the path, he let his eyes wander about. There was an odd feeling once more in him. He had forgotten how different it was to not have Saphira by his side wherever he went. Once more, joining the Varden only served to reinforce the hard truth that he was truly alone.

Frowning slightly, Eragon stared straight ahead as they walked. He could see the bustle of dwarves and humans about Tronjheim and without Saphira's presence they did not give much thought to him. However, there would be the few that would glance over and catch sight of his pointed ears and his azure blades and they would pause in their daily routine to observe him with curious eyes. The lack of welcome and response to his presence was something that he had to acquaint himself to. After all, he was no one to the Varden at least not of presently in any case.

They neared the city-mountain, and Eragon saw that the white marble of Tronjheim was highly polished and shaped into flowing contours, as if it had been poured into place. It was dotted with countless round windows framed by elaborate carvings. A colored lantern hung in each window, casting a soft glow on the surrounding rock. No turrets or smokestacks were visible. Directly ahead, two thirty-foot-high gold griffins guarded a massive timber gate—recessed twenty yards into the base of Tronjheim—which was shadowed by thick trusses that supported an arched vault far overhead.

When they reached Tronjheim's base, Eragon took a moment to study the walls which were lined with fluted pillars of blood-red jasper in which statues of outlandish creatures stood in between, captured forever by the sculptor's chisel.

The heavy gate rumbled open before them as hidden chains slowly raised the mammoth beams. A four-story-high passageway extended straight toward the center of Tronjheim. The top three levels were pierced by rows of archways that revealed gray tunnels curving off into the distance and rich tapestries hung between the different levels, embroidered with heroic figures and tumultuous battle scenes.

As they traveled, Eragon was not surprised by the lack of change of Tronjheim eighty years from now. Just like Du Weldenvarden, the dwarves were isolated from time as the elves were. If there was one thing he could take comfort in within the underground marble city it was that stone did not age. Whatever was engraved in the surface would remain there unless another force acted upon it. The idea was oddly comforting in a way.

As they exited the circular room that led into the nexus of four hallways, Eragon chanced a glance up at the ceiling. Directly above him was a dawn-red star sapphire of monstrous size. The jewel was twenty yards across and nearly as thick. Its face had been carved to resemble a rose in full bloom, and so skilled was the craftsmanship, the flower almost seemed to be real. A wide belt of lanterns wrapped around the edge of the sapphire, which cast striated bands of blushing light over everything below. The flashing rays of the star within the gem made it appear as if a giant eye gazed down at them. He pondered the sight of the Isidar Mithrim with a slight tinge of amusement. Arya had smashed the dwarves' beloved jewel in order to save Murtagh from Durza and give Eragon the needed distraction to kill the Shade and when Saphira had repaired the jewel there was a deeper and richer beauty to it than now. What the jewel became was far more beautiful than what it originally had been in his opinion.

Tearing his eyes away from the Isidar Mithrim, Eragon followed his guards into the right-hand hallway. They traveled it for several hundred feet, then entered a smaller corridor. His guards remained despite the cramped space. After four sharp turns, they came to a massive cedar door, stained black with age. The dwarf captain pulled it open and conducted Eragon inside.

Eragon entered an elegant, two-story study paneled with rows of cedar bookshelves. A wrought-iron staircase wound up to a small balcony with two chairs and a reading table. White lanterns hung along the walls and ceiling so a book could be read anywhere in the room. The stone floor was covered by an intricate oval rug. At the far end of the room, a man stood behind a large walnut desk.

Weldon was a strong man. He stood taller than most and if Eragon had to chance an approximation to his height he would say that Weldon was taller than him by a mere inch or two. His dark raven hair was neatly cut reminding Eragon of the image of a hardened soldier. Unlike most men, Weldon did not wear any facial hair. He was neatly shaven causing his sharp features to stand out more. Contrary to the people of the Varden, he wore fine clothing fit for a noble and a long sword was at his hip. The air of dignity that he possessed impressed Eragon and when he spoke, his voice was strong and authoritative. It was unlike Evandar's and Islanzadí's, and even Nasuada's but it was the voice of a commander all the less.

"Welcome to Tronjheim, Eragon," he said holding his hand out towards the seat before his desk. "Please, seat yourself."

He did as Weldon said and slipped into the armchair while the leader of the Varden seated himself in a high-backed chair behind his desk. He turned his sharp, hazel eyes on Eragon with an expression of interest. "I am Weldon, leader of the Varden, it is quite an honor to be able meet an elf. I had heard word of your arrival and had thought that you would arrive at a later date. It is with my most humble apologies that I was unable to welcome you as I ought to."

"It is of little concern," said Eragon dismissing the matter. "There is no need for fanfare on my part."

Weldon merely inclined his head. "You have come from Du Weldenvarden to join with the Varden am I correct in asking so? I received word from King Evandar that it was your intentions but I would like to hear from you myself what it is that you are seeking."

"To find a way to do away with Galbatorix and his followers," said Eragon without hesitation. "There is little else that I am striving for apart from that goal."

"Is that so?" asked Weldon, his eyes trained intently on Eragon. "And how would you do so as a part of the Varden?"

"Unlike most," Eragon began, careful in how he spoke so that he did not come across as insolent or overbearing, "I have far greater capabilities that can be put to use. And the most important one that the Varden lacks, is a capable spellcaster. I doubt there is anyone amongst the Varden that can be called a capable magician. From what I have gathered, if one wants to fight Galbatorix, magic is needed for the king is already gathering those to teach in order to weave them into his Empire."

"You can do magic?" Weldon appeared to be deeply impressed and even more curious. Eragon nodded as he lifted his hand. With a soft whisper, he conjured forth a blazing azure flame to show Weldon. The leader of the Varden merely stared on in amazement and it took Eragon a moment to remember that humans could not do magic and that the Du Vrangr Gata was not yet formed. After a moment, he extinguished the flame. "Interesting, I have only met a few dwarves who are apt spellcasters."

"Most, if not all elves, are able spellcasters," said Eragon once more remembering that the information that most humans had of elves were based off of their legends of the magical race.

He could tell that Weldon was very impressed by his act of magic, however simple it was in Eragon's opinion, but there was a sense of caution to him to which Eragon understood. Eragon was much more powerful than anyone within the Varden and that would make him a force to be reckoned with. If he showed himself with too much force and confidence, it might make him appear as a threat to Weldon's authority.

"I apologize if I may seem rude or forward, Eragon," Weldon began tentatively, as he pressed his fingers together in deep contemplation, "But I would like to know how you intend to be of assistance to our cause. Though the Varden has been created several years ago, it is still fragile and infantile in state. Your appearance may cause a slight stir in the masses. I must know where you shall stand if I have any hope to keep this organization that Brom, a comrade of yours, has created safely intact."

"I understand your concerns Weldon," said Eragon as he shifted in his armchair, "and I hope that what I will say would ease your concerns. I am not here to usurp your position or to question your authority. Nor am I here in any relation to King Evandar. I am simply here to help the Varden fight against Galbatorix."

"Then I shall have your full cooperation?" asked Weldon.

Eragon nodded.

Weldon nodded pleased with his words. "That is a concern alleviated," he smiled at Eragon for the first time since he'd entered the study. Weldon became quiet for a moment before he spoke carefully, "Of course, I shall not have you doing common labors. How do you think you shall best serve the needs of the Varden?"

"You shall need a group of magicians," said Eragon with hard eyes remembering how Deynor out of his desperation had accepted the twins into the Varden without even bothering to question their background and history. If he started training able magicians now, he would be able to oversee the growth of the Varden. "And if you will consent to it, I will like to help train the willing men into capable soldiers."

Weldon sat there for several moments staring intently at Eragon. If he allowed Eragon to train the men and to create a group of magician, it would be as if he was handing a great deal of control to Eragon. But essentially Weldon would remain the leader. He merely had to trust in his own leadership amongst the Varden. Even if Eragon was allowed to do as he said, as long as Weldon asserted his authority no one would dare question as to who was the sole commander in the Varden.

After a long moment, Weldon nodded. "I shall allow you to train the soldiers after you have settled your affairs with the proposed group of magicians that you spoke about. How long do you think it shall take for you to do so?"

"If you give me a few months, I shall have a group of novice magicians in training for you," said Eragon seriously. He had been thinking hard about the need for magicians in the Varden. If they started now, by the time history caught up the Varden would be off to a better standing against Galbatorix. And it was for this reason that he had left Du Weldenvarden in the first place.

"Now if it is not too much to ask, I was hoping that you are willing to answer some of my questions for me," asked Weldon.

"If I can than I will but there will be some questions that I cannot answer," said Eragon. "I hope you do not take my lack of answer as a means of insolence or rudeness on my part."

"No of course not, it is understandable," said Weldon with a nod. He paused thinking deeply, his brows furrowing slightly. "Where exactly is Ellesméra? I know from what I've read and heard about the elves is that after the Fall that they had retreated into Du Weldenvarden, which is in the northeastern part of Alagaësia, but nothing else about their whereabouts nor their history."

"I cannot tell you the exact location of the capital without King Evandar's permission," said Eragon thinking of how the information could endanger the elves if Galbatorix ever heard word of the location of Ellesméra or his spies. Though the wards protected the forest, he did not want Galbatorix finding a means to circumvent the magic of Du Weldenvarden and Ellesméra. "Knowledge of the elven capital is prized information. It is knowledge that they guard jealously."

"I see," nodded Weldon. He did not push the matter anymore, instead he continued onward. "You were once a Rider?"

"I was, my dragon was taken from my by Galbatorix," answered Eragon, his lips curling downwards in distaste. It still irked him how in the last moment, Galbatorix had managed to retaliate and kill him causing such a loop in time.

"Then why did you not lash out like Brom did? From what I have come to know when a Rider loses their dragon, they either die from grief or they go mad with rage," Weldon said, his intelligence shining forth. He was a very perceptive man thought Eragon. It made Weldon more of a capable leader in Eragon's mind. "I have met with Brom on several occasions and the times that I've seen him, he was not as calm nor as collected as you are before me. Instead, he burned with a thirst for vengeance and he has left to claim what was deserved of him."

He frowned at the thought of his father raging a warpath wherever his desire for revenge led him. He was still not used to knowing and hearing of an enraged Brom. In hindsight, he much preferred his calm and wise father. Thinking back to Weldon's question, Eragon carefully picked his words. "It was not that I was not enraged," said Eragon, "But rather that I know that anger does not bode well. An angry mind can blindside the best of warriors. In any case, I wanted to wait to act until I knew that I was certain that I can help and make a difference against Galbatorix. Call it caution if you will and perhaps maybe even cowardice."

He would have to play his cards right. He did not want to give away too much. If he appeared too sure of the Varden's formation, too positive that an organization would come into existence to face Galbatorix it would appear suspicious. He rather come across as a coward rather than overconfident and presumptuous. Weldon nodded not questioning him.

"And you have been staying in Du Weldenvarden since the Fall?" asked Weldon.

"Yes."

After a long moment, his eyes darted to Eragon's swords. "Your swords, may I see one of them?"

A brief moment of contemplation passed through him. Settling on Brisingr, he slid his sword from his waist and handed the Rider's blade to Weldon. He did not want anyone touching Vrangr. It was still too much of a reminder of Arya to him that he was unwilling to share with another person. The only person in this time he had allowed to touch Vrangr was Rhunön and no one else—not even Brom.

Like every other person, Weldon unsheathed Brisingr to study the blade in awe. Then he frowned as he tested the weight of Brisingr in his hands. "How do you wield such a sword in battle? The weight is rather significant."

Eragon smiled slightly. "It weighs rather lightly in my hand," said Eragon. "All elves are endowed with unnatural strength and speed."

Weldon raised a brow in interest and sheathed Brisingr before handing the sword back to Eragon. "Where did you come across such a blade?"

"I forged it with help from a friend." He slid Brisingr back into place on his left hip before straightening in his seat to face Weldon once more. If anything, Weldon appeared more impressed than when he first met Eragon.

"And what of your other sword?"

"It was gifted to me by someone important," he refused to say anymore and could only hope that Weldon did not see it fit to keep on questioning him about Vrangr. Weldon's eyes flickered to Vrangr with curiosity but his perceptive nature seemed to tell him not to question Eragon for he moved on.

The rest of his questioning was still as involved as his last and whenever he treaded over topics of sensitive nature, he effectively steered the conversation away. While Eragon answered Weldon's questions to the best of his abilities there was one thing that stood out to him about the leader of the Varden. Weldon was very observant. Nothing escaped his notice and Eragon understood then why Weldon was chosen as the leader of the Varden after Brom. He was intelligent and that combined with his perception of his surroundings and others made him all the more formidable as a leader. Eventually when the last question of his background was answered, Weldon leaned back in his armchair to study Eragon once more.

"Before you leave Eragon, there is one more thing that I would like to ask of you so that I can fully trust you," said Weldon.

"And what is it?" asked Eragon warily.

"I need your word that you are our ally and you mean the Varden no harm," said Weldon with sharp eyes. "From what you told me about elves and the other sparse information that I've gathered, elves are much stronger than most race. And they possess the ability to delve into other's minds. There is yet a magician or spellcaster within the Varden capable of doing so and thus we cannot verify who you really are. I can only trust in your words that you are who you claim to be and no one else."

Not arguing against Weldon, he gave the man his word and for good measure repeated it in the ancient language. Though Weldon did not understand, the slight relaxation of his body told Eragon that the man subconsciously knew that Eragon was not a threat. "Thank you for your cooperation Eragon. I know that it has been a rather strange experience. You have not seen a human in twenty-one years and I have never before seen an elf."

"It is very nostalgic," agreed Eragon but for different reasons entirely.

"I have a room ready for you so that you may unpack and settle in," said Weldon moving onto business. "I shall also send word for those who believe themselves to be capable in the areas of magic and when I have managed to compile a list of names and identities, I shall send word for you. For the meantime, allow one of my runners to show you about Tronjheim. You are the first elf to step foot in these halls in some time I've gathered."

"Of course," said Eragon. They spoke for a few more minutes before Weldon sent for one of his runners and within the next five minutes a young boy entered the study, bowing to Weldon in respect. As Eragon observed the boy who appeared to be no older than twelve, he felt himself frown. When he was twelve he was also working but for a much different cause. _Even now children are still carrying the burden of past mistakes, _thought Eragon sadly.

"Eragon, this is Lucas," said Weldon pointing to the light haired boy who was still gazing at him in awe. "He shall show you about Tronjheim and when you are tired, he shall guide you to your chambers to rest. If you have any questions do not hesitate to ask him. He is much smarter than he looks."

"I shall see you when you call for me," said Eragon as he stood making his way over to Lucas. Weldon nodded before turning his eyes downward pulling one of the many scrolls beside him out before him to read. Eragon and Lucas took his actions as a sign of dismissal and the two of them departed from the study.

"Well then Lucas," said Eragon the moment they exited the study. "Where is that we shall go?"

The young boy appeared to flounder on the spot, his fair cheeks splotching a bright red. He was rather timid thought Eragon and he knew that being in contact with what he thought was an elf made Lucas all the more anxious. He never really knew how it was that the elves affected others. He had always been an outsider watching in or rather to be more precise, he was sometimes one of those affected by the elves. Or rather by Arya. She had dazed him quite frequently and continued to do so even without noticing it. His mind wandered for a moment and he thought of how the females in the Varden had reacted upon smelling Blödhgarm's scent. He could also see in his mind's eyes the sight of people just stopping as they would turn their attention to the elf in their midst.

It was odd to think that now he was part of the staring and the admiration as well as the distrust.

"P-p-p-please follow me sir!" squeaked Lucas seemingly finding his courage to speak. Amused, he followed the young boy through the tunnels of Tronjheim allowing him to show Eragon to the many tunnels that ran through the underground city. He would pretend to be under the impression of seeing Tronjheim for the first time, it would only serve to dishearten Lucas if he found Eragon's reaction as indifferent to the marble city.

As they traveled, Eragon made sure to appear awed or impressed at certain parts of grandeur of Tronjheim. The more they traveled, the more it appeared that Lucas was gaining the courage to speak. Though he still stuttered at times, he wasn't overly quiet and instead began to chatter away to Eragon excitedly.

"Does your parents live here?" asked Eragon curiously.

Lucas fidgeted slightly as he tugged on the hem of his light brown shirt. "I live in the orphanage with the other children," he said quietly and Eragon instantly felt sorry for asking such a question. Immediately an awkwardness filled him. He did not know how to act about children. The closest he came to interacting with someone with around Lucas's age was Finny but his servant has always been outgoing and rarely introverted. There was never an awkward moment with Finny. Now that he thought about it, he didn't even know if Finny understood what awkward was.

After a long moment in which Lucas led him about Tronjheim in a dejected silence Eragon felt the need to speak. There was something bothering him about making a young boy like Lucas question his lack of parents and history. "I grew up without a father," said Eragon softly hoping that piece of information would spare Lucas of his sudden embarrassment of not having family.

It took a moment but eventually the young boy returned to himself and once more began to lead Eragon about Tronjheim with more spirit. When they reached the markets, Eragon instantly wanted to turn back and away from prying eyes but it was too late for Lucas was already pulling him through the crowded market bustling with dwarves and humans.

As he walked through the crowd, slowly one by one everyone turned to stare at him their eyes wide. He could see how amazed they were to see a legend within in their midst. They were believing that they were seeing an elf for the first time rather than a man that was once human but was turned elf. Women stared at him in what appeared to be a trance and he felt uncomfortable. He never thought of himself handsome, not when he compared himself to an elf's standards but he did not know to describe himself now amongst the dwarves and humans. The men stared at him in curiosity and some were even scowling at Eragon. Despite the obvious surprise on their expressions, there was also a slight hint of distrust.

_I know the stories your people tell about my kind well enough. Too well._

Arya's words suddenly rang in his mind. Elves were distrusted because they were too foreign, too incomprehensible to humans. Dwarves had a better understanding for them and perhaps that was why they had a better tolerance for elves. But humans did not for humans lacked magic and most of their views on the world hinged on their culture and traditions that were set in stone before they were born. Eragon could only imagine how it was that such myth of elves had come into existence in the first place as he remembered Arya telling him how she was accused of trying to switch baby for a changeling. The elves' magic had made them untrustworthy and too strange in the eyes of humans. And Eragon, despite how he hated to admit it, would be in the same mindset if he was in their shoes.

Eventually when he was free of the crowd, he was only too glad to ask Lucas to show him back to his chambers that Weldon had asked to be prepared for him. Eventually they came to a hidden hall that not even Eragon noticed his first time staying within Tronjheim and he was thoroughly impressed when he was shown to his rather spacious accommodations.

"Thank you Lucas," said Eragon praising the young boy. "You carried out your tasks well. You should be proud that you know such a great wreath of information on Tronjheim."

Lucas merely flushed but he could that he was pleased with Eragon's praise. After murmuring his farewells, he scurried from the chambers leaving Eragon alone to his thoughts. It had been a long day thought Eragon as he locked and warded his chambers from unwanted visitors. What was more was that he knew that the upcoming days would be long and hard. He was going to have to create a group of magicians once more starting from nothing.

Sighing slightly, he undid Vrangr's strap from his back and brought his sword about his body to stare at the weapon. He had not thought of it earlier but now that he studied Vrangr, he thought back to his encounter with the rest of Tronjheim. Was that the response Arya received when she first visited the Varden? He couldn't think otherwise. It was a good thing then that his appearance would serve to lessen the response to Arya's if she decided to join the Varden in this time.

Clenching his fingers and relaxing them, Eragon shook his head. He had to get some rest from his travels. From now on out there were no such things as relaxation. He had a future to build and it was going to take the next eighty years for him to accomplish if he had that much time.

"I must as well try to get as much sleep as I can," muttered Eragon as he made his way to his bedroom. He was already feeling tired and could not wait until his body made contact with the soft bed.

There was going to be little time to sleep now that he had joined the Varden but he would have it no other way for he was finally living out his sole duty that had been given to him: to put an end to Galbatorix. And his first stand would be with the Varden.

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**I'm just trying to move this along and hopefully the action starts soon! Can't wait! Anyways, I hope to see you all soon! **


	11. Chapter 11

******Another time skip and some introductions of characters...don't worry everyone Arya will show soon! I've been rather eager to write ExA moments. And for the review that asked about Eragon having waking dreams, he does I just don't describe it since there's too much going on in each chapter. In any case, hope you all enjoy this chapter! R&R.**

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"Lucas, you need to focus," said Eragon rather shortly as he turned to the young man before him who was struggling to gather his thoughts after Eragon had speared his concentration into pieces. If there was one thing he learned about Lucas, it was that the boy lacked confidence, and therefore it was easy to penetrate his mind and thoughts.

"I apologize, sir," said Lucas, his face beat red and his features strained from his exertion. The circular room contained nearly a dozen other apprentices, who were successfully moving along with their studies, and though it was Eragon's duty as the head of Du Gata Vrangr, to move about and study them as they worked, Lucas's inability to move forward through his studies had prevented Eragon from doing so. "It is just simply too difficult to focus my mind in different directions all at once."

"It is difficult," agreed Eragon hoping that Lucas would not become disheartened due to his short comings the past few days. "But you need to learn how to focus, else it would do no good for you nor your companions if you were unable to utilize your skills in battle."

Lucas, who seemed apprehensive about Eragon's reaction, seemed to sag in relief when he made no move to scold the young man. Rather, Eragon reached down to lift a sizable stone ball in his hand and placed it on the table before Lucas.

"I have seen you lift objects before," said Eragon watching as Lucas seemed to blanch at the size of the stone. "I want you to challenge yourself. We shall test the defense of your mind in the next lesson."

"Yes, thank you sir," said Lucas now turning his eyes to focus on his new task.

He watched as the young man, whom he once knew as a young boy, turned his eyes downward to the stone ball on the table before him and begin his task with newfound determination. Satisfied that Lucas was not wasting away in his frustration as he was earlier, Eragon continued about the room to study his other apprentices.

Six years ago when he had first arrived in Tronjheim, Weldon had accepted him as an ally of the Varden's under Eragon's promise to him that he would be able to form a group of magicians that would aid the Varden's needs. And so within the first few months that he had arrived in Farthen Dûr, the entirety of the Varden was questioned and observed for any potential magicians and spellcasters. However, despite the smooth process, there were quite a few hiccups spread far and between the searches for potential apprentices. Many humans believed that magic was wrong and unfair and that it went against the laws of nature and their superstitions of magic caused them to cast harsh judgment over those who practiced magic.

At first many were unwilling to participate particularly due to this belief of magic and due to the fact that they would be learning under Eragon, an elf who they did not trust. But there were a few willing students and despite how they were treated, it was clear after the first raids in which Eragon's spellcasters had volunteered in how essential magic was in terms of allowing the Varden to prosper. When once a company of soldiers returned with a cart of dead, only a few men were injured when they ventured out with a spellcaster amongst their ranks. The difference in mortality rates was enough to show to Weldon that magic was essential for their survival.

And so, the people had to grudgingly admit to the benefits that magic brought despite their distrust for it. Eventually more of the Varden began to volunteer their services to learn magic. Though their determination was admirable, only a few handful could actually grasp for the magic within themselves. Thus, began his task of forming the new group of magicians for the Varden. While he knew the group of magicians to be Du Vrangr Gata in his time, he could not bring himself to recreate the group with the incorrect name and so instead, he formed the Du Gata Vrangr, the true _Wandering Path._

Teaching was frustrating but patience was needed, else he would have ended up snapping at quite a few of his students. Over the six years he had learned how to reign in his anger as best as he could when it came to his apprentices and he could only see that he had done well in doing so for the spellcasters of Du Gata Vrangr were disciplined, determined, and overall apt spellcasters compared to what he had to work with in his own time.

"Sir," he turned to a sweet looking young woman with auburn hair.

"What is it Petra?" asked Eragon worried as he caught the crease between her brows showing her frustration.

"I am having difficulties with this particular passage," she lifted the ancient text up to him. Eragon took the book from her and began to read the passage written not in the normal lines of the human language but with the glyphs from the ancient language. Letting his eyes take in the writing, he paused as he found what it was that Petra was confused about. The pronunciation of one particular word had changed since the tome was written and it didn't fall in line with what he had taught her.

"It is not your fault that you are confused," said Eragon as he reached for her quill which she hurriedly gave to him. "The text is outdated and the pronunciation of this particular word has changed. Correctly, it should be this." He neatly crossed the word out and wrote the correct version so that Petra could see.

Returning the book to her, he watched as she began to read the line once more and the crease between her brows disappeared as she smiled up at him. "Now it makes more sense," said Petra.

Eragon nodded and he left her to her own devices as he continued to makes his rounds. What was most odd but all the more welcoming was how it seemed as if young women began to grow more confident in themselves within the Varden. Though females were often cast in a domestic light, it was rather novel to see capable young women willing to fight for a cause they believed in. He never really agreed with the gender roles amongst human society. Though human females were indeed physically weaker than their male counterparts, it did not necessarily mean they had to conform to the social norm. He thought of his mother, Rosalie, and Desdemona all of whom were strong females in their own right. It was refreshing to see that there were those who did not conform.

Petra was one of the few females that Eragon generally liked all around. She was very diligent and responsible and had a sense of duty and comradeship. She had come to him two years ago to learn how to become a spellcaster to serve within the Varden. From what he gathered about Petra, her parents lived within the Varden but they were not warriors. Her father was a blacksmith and her mother took care of her younger brothers. Though Petra did not say it outright, since she was the eldest child and the only daughter she wanted to find a way to assist in their plight. He had found that she did not like the idea of settling down at a young age and starting a family when there was much to be done still.

"Hitch," Eragon called to the man who was glaring at the glass with frozen ice in his hand. "You need to focus on your task and not let your anger get the best of you. Rushing will not help you reach your goal."

Hitch's eyes flickered to him and he nodded taking a deep breath before he went to focus on turning the ice back to water without altering the form of the glass. Though there was a certain method to doing it with ease, Eragon had challenged Hitch by using the spell _Brisingr._ If he could control his flow of magic than it would make him an even more accomplished magician.

The training lasted for two more hours before Eragon called them all to a stop. "You have all worked diligently," said Eragon as he stood at the front of the spellcaster. "I believe it is time for me to call for a halt in today's lesson. And I would also like to say that there will not be any lessons for the next week."

Catching sight of their dismayed expressions Eragon held up his hand before they could burst out into protest. "I have been assigned to a mission by Weldon and it needs my overseeing," said Eragon. He could see the tension in their expression but he continued, his eyes sweeping over those gathered in the room. "Though I shall expect all of you to be studying assiduously."

There was a twitch of nervousness in the room for each person knew that Eragon did not take lightly to those who slacked away from their duty. After a few more words, he dismissed them all and eventually began to make his way back to his chambers. Tomorrow, he was going to be leaving with a small company of men to Surda for supplies for the Varden and to exchange reports. Though it was a task given to the other captains within the Varden, Weldon had specifically came to Eragon to ask him to oversee this particular trip.

There had been reports that some of the Forsworn had been seen flying about the Beor Mountains. It had appeared that with Galbatorix ruling the western half of Alagaësia for the past near three decades had caused them to grow confident in their powers. Though he had not heard word of Morzan flying about the Beor Mountains as of yet, he could only speculate as to the other ten Forsworn remaining. Eragon had heard word that one of the Forsworn, an elf by the name of Faelon had ended his own life out of his crazed misery after the Banishing of Names—Du Namar Aurboda. That was merely one less opponent for him to think of.

Despite the dragons who had casted such an enchantment, Eragon could not help but think that it made the Forsworn only more dangerous in their madness. He had no idea how they were reacting to the slow degradation of their dragons but it appeared that it was beginning to take its toll on the Dragon Riders. _Perhaps not Dragon Riders, _thought Eragon with a frown as he readied the charger that he was given early morn the following day._With their lack of self-expression, their dragons have become no more than mere animals._

He thought of Shruikan for a long moment. Galbatorix's dragon was spared of having his name torn away from him but the black dragon was no better off than those of the Forsworn. Because of their greed, they had subjected their dragons to a most primitive fate. It was sickening to think of. Shaking his head from the thought, Eragon turned back to his company of men. Weldon had given him one hundred and fifty men to travel to Surda with for their cargo and back.

Glancing at their grim and yet determined faces, he easily mounted his charger, Creed, and turned back to his men. "When they open the gates stay in formation. If we encounter anything on the way through the path outside of the Beor Mountains, look for my signal," said Eragon in his authoritative voice that he had learned to use when he was allowed to trained the soldiers five years ago. "But no matter what, do not break formation."

He glanced back at his company of men made of three platoons. The majority of his men were on horseback while those that weren't were sitting within the empty carts that they had stationed at the rear center of the formation. It was a formation made for quick mobility but also for flexibility. He glanced back at his platoon leaders before he motioned to the dwarves that were guarding the eastern gate out of the Beor Mountains.

They acknowledged his gesture and began to turn the gears causing a low rumbling to echo over the eastern gates. He waited atop Creed, silent and relaxed unlike his men. With a cloak fastened at the base of his throat and his swords strapped in place on his hips, Eragon leaned forward on his horse. Despite the fact that he was perfectly capable of running the distance to Surda in a few days with a few breaks in between, he did not want to out distance his men who needed his commands to stay in order. Thus he was forced to use a steed.

Gripping Creed's reins in his hands, he narrowed his eyes slightly at the tunnel before them that would lead directly above ground near the Beartooth River. When the gates were fully open, Eragon waved his company forward. Gently pressing Creed's side with the heels of his boots, his charger tossed his head before galloping forward into the dim gloom of the tunnel lit every fifty feet by flameless lanterns but just for good measure he sent up his were-light to accompany them.

Though the acceptance of magic was steadily growing, he could tell that the floating orb of light unnerved several of his soldiers but they did not say anything for the darkness about them was pushed back. As they travelled, the sounds of the carts being pulled across the dirt path and the cantering of hooves against the ground the only sound within the tunnel, Eragon was left to the solitude of his mind.

It was apparent that six years was too little span of time to try and build the Varden into something more than a ragtag band of people seeking justice. It was clear to Eragon during his first year with the Varden how the organization lacked a sense of order. Having served Galbatorix for several years, he understood the need for structure in society. Though Galbatorix's idea of law was to put himself above and beyond it, his way of governing was effective albeit cruel and corrupt. The Varden at first was appearing to be traveling in the same direction as Galbatorix's rule and though he only knew what would become of the Varden in his time, he did not like what he was seeing.

Instead, Eragon quietly went about structuring the Varden in order to help secure Weldon's position. The first matter to be dealt was with the Council of Elders. He had remembered how they had managed to corner him into swearing his fealty to Nasuada and decided to put a stop to the corruption before it could take root. It was difficult but with Weldon's agreement they had shown the Council of Elders that they were merely there as advisers and nothing more. And though both Weldon and Eragon had created enemies from those who wanted more he could care less, it was another matter to be done with. Though they would have to make sure to keep a close watch on the council. The moment they let up, corruption would take its place once more.

The next matter to be dealt with was the army itself. Weldon was the sole commander of the Varden and with his military right hand man being a veteran soldier, he knew Irvine to be loyal and righteous. And so together, the two of them began to make reforms to the army of the Varden, instituting a rigorous training for their troops. There was a need of discipline and order that could only help to better serve them. Though the Varden was a rebel group for seeking refuge from the Empire, they could not afford to be on poor standards, especially not with the oppression of war in the near future.

At first there were many protests from the men. They did not like the idea of training for battle for they believed that they were safe in the halls of Tronjheim. Nor did they like the fact that Eragon would be teaching them. It was during a rather large show of insubordination from one of the soldiers, that Eragon had shown them how capable of a fighter he was. Though he had not fought an opponent for nearly two decades, it did not mean that he had lost his edge. Quite the contrary, he would have thrashed the soldier within an inch of his life had it not been for Irvine who had stepped in and eased the tension, proclaiming that the training was needed and that those who refused would be subjected to punishment for their defiance.

Was it a harsh treatment? Eragon did not think so and within time, they began to relent to the training and it was clear on the first day just how poorly they were fit for battle. Those training to be archers could not even hit their mark when it was merely a log of wood. Throwing them out into the midst of battle would only serve to kill them.

He spent five years trying to better the army and work on building Du Gata Vrangr into a respectable group of magicians but it was clear to him that he was going to need more time to do so. It was a slow process but the results would be worth the effort, of that he was sure.

They travelled for the rest of the day until night-time fell and Eragon, not wanting to work the horses to death, called for a rest a few hundred yards away from the Beartooth River so that they could picket their horses and allow them to graze on the grass and drink from the river. Having left the confines of the tunnels earlier, they were instead subjected to the cool night. Glancing about the area, Eragon turned to Marlow, one of the platoon leaders.

"Set up camp here," ordered Eragon as he dismounted from Creed, patting the charger's strong neck. "Have a patrol in place as well. I shall go see to the surrounding areas after I have settled my things."

"Yes sir," said Marlow, instantly moving to carry out his orders.

Unpacking his things from Creed, he went to work setting up his tent for the day. If they rested within the next two hours, the horses would have enough time to recuperate by early morning for them to set out once more to Surda. Within ten minutes, his tent was erected and his things already inside. Casting a glance back to the camp that was being set up, he began to make his way to survey the surrounding areas. He needed to make sure if it was safe to stay about the Beor Mountains.

He was certain that Weldon's fears were not unfounded. He had requested that Eragon take the role of captain to oversee the travel to Surda and had therefore showed to Eragon how seriously he was taking the sightings of the Forsworn about the mountains. Shifting a branch of a young tree from his face, he continued forward making sure to keep alert in case he heard anything.

After half an hour of scouting and coming up short, he was determined to believe that there was nothing dangerous about, he was about to return to the camp when he felt something strange towards his left. Curious as to the odd feeling that he was receiving, he drew Brisingr and Vrangr. Holding his swords aloft, Eragon turned towards his left and began to inch forward. He had waved away the noise by the River as the mere sounds of animals but now that he listened to closely, he thought he heard a soft voice singing.

Who could that be?

Even more curious, his grip on his swords tightened as he carefully stepped over a few branches littered on the ground. As he neared the source of the noise, it was clear that what he was hearing was indeed singing. It was not the singing that alarmed him but rather the lilting voice that was the source of the music. It was not a rugged nor roughish in any sort but rather soft and smooth. As he neared, he could pick out the words to the music and it surprised him to know that it was an elvish song that he had heard before during a festival in Ellesméra.

Frowning, he stepped forward and out of the covers that the trees gave him. The Beartooth River sparkled beneath the crescent moon and the werelight that was hovering a few feet overhead. The light radiated downwards and lit the river and the person that was bathing in the water. At the sound of his entrance, the woman in the river paused, her song ending with her silence. A few seconds passed and then she lifted her chin causing her dark hair to shift to reveal pointed ears.

"Who are you?" asked Eragon harbouring a sneaking suspicion of who the elf maiden was.

Her sapphire eyes were sharp as she regarded him before she tilted her head to the side, a rather cold smile coming forth. "You certainly are a rude one," she said, her eyes flickering to his swords. "Any other gentleman would refrain from intruding on a private bath. It seems as if you lack any sort of inhibition."

Eragon frowned but he dared not turn and show her his back. Instead he chanced a look at her and saw that she had turned and had drawn a towel to cover her, not caring that the piece of cloth became wet in the water of the river. He took a moment to scrutinize her face. Her skin was flawless and her features were smooth and ethereal like all elven-maidens. However, there was a characteristic about this particular elf before him that made him cautious.

"Then let me repeat myself once more," said Eragon unaffected by her beauty. "Who are you?"

"What makes you think I shall tell you anything about myself when you demand so?" she asked. Her eyes flickered to his swords and he could see a gleam of interest enter her startling sapphire eyes. She tilted her head to the side. "A Rider?"

"You have yet to answer my question," said Eragon refusing to relent. Could this elf be one of the Forsworn that Weldon had told him several of the scouts have caught sightings of? But then where was her dragon? It was odd to think that an elf could ever be a Forsworn but then again, Galbatorix had always been rather persuasive. "What could an elf be doing out in the Beor Mountains? Certainly not just for a mere bath in a river."

"I can ask the same of you," she directed back at him and it was clear that this person did not easily relinquish her answers. Annoyed, Eragon made his way forward to stand on the shore of the river. Shifting his right arm, he held the tip of Brisingr directly before her but she was unfazed by his threat, instead she languidly stretched in the river before reaching up to glide her finger up the iridescent blade of Brisingr. "You have a beautiful sword or rather beautiful swords I may say. The hue is fitting… tell me, how did your dragon die?"

If she was planning on offending Eragon she did not for Saphira was never killed. He was the one who died. Raising a brow, Eragon spoke in a rather harsh tone, "I would rather my dragon living peacefully in whatever afterlife there is rather than be turned into a mere shell of what she once was. Where is your dragon? Out hunting with the hounds?"

Instantly her expression changed. Her brows became slanted and her eyes blazed at the insult. "How dare you," she hissed glaring at him. "Your rudeness can only account for your rising. Hounds? Your mother and father were the hounds to give birth to such an insolent excuse of a Rider."

"If we are speaking of poor excuses of a Rider," Eragon's eyes narrowed, "You and your companions surely take the title. To think that what once was has given way to a disillusioned human greedy for his own desires to be fulfilled." His lips curled downward as he stared down at the elf in distaste. "Tell me do you enjoy kissing the hems of his robes? Do you enjoy your petty squabbles with others so that you may be looked upon with greater favor?" At the thought of serving Galbatorix, he felt his anger bubble. To think that such Riders would be easily won over by Galbatorix and his promises. "Does his approval mean that much to you, that you would forsake your humanity?"

She stared up the blade of Brisingr at him with a feral smile. "Does his approval mean much to me? He is the ruler of the Empire, the bane of the Order. The answer to your question then would be yes, it does." Her finger which was still lightly gliding up the blade of Brisingr paused and then she gently pushed Brisingr away from her as she began to climb forth from the river.

Still keeping his swords trained on her, Eragon frowned, as she gracefully made her way to her clothing. "You and I believe in different ideas," she said as she turned her head to pin him with a stare, her earlier smile gone to be replaced by a look of haughty superiority. "While you clung to an Order that was only interested in keeping the world stagnant and their own interests alive, you failed to see the lack of their necessity. What need did we have for those fools? They sat atop their high chairs for what? Just so that they could stare down at the world beneath them. They did nothing and in their lack of action, in their lack of seeing what was before them they fell."

His eyes flickered away as her towel fluttered to the ground and she began to pull her attire on. He did not need to see more than necessary and when he was certain she was done, her turned his attention back to her, to find that she was lacing up her boots a sword now resting on her right hip, the brown color looking fit to match that of a trunk of one of the ancient pines in Du Weldenvarden.

As his eyes took in her sword, Eragon felt a tone of clarity ring forth from within him as he took in her cold demeanor. "So you are Formora," he remembered Oromis telling him about Formora and her fellow Forsworn, Kialandí, and how they had deceived Oromis and Glaedr and nearly killed them. Formora was the one who had left Glaedr crippled for she had sliced his left foreleg. "To think I would meet you here of all places." He twisted Brisingr in his hand lightly. "No matter, it shall make matters all the more easier."

"You would fight me?" asked Formora with a twisted gleam of humor in her eyes as she regarded Eragon, though he was sure that there was a mixture of curiosity within her eyes. "Even knowing that I am a Forsworn? That I am above you in strength and power?"

"For much talk I have yet to see a reason as to why I should fear you," said Eragon scoffing as he bent his knees ready to charge her. "All I see is an elf that has let her greed and ambition take the best of her."

"I am afraid that you are letting your own ambitions take the best of you," her eyes flickered to the right, in the direction of the camp. "If you are not careful, I may tell my dragon to light your companions aflame. I certainly have had enough of your insults."

"Do not tell me your pride is wounded," said Eragon with narrowed eyes. "How petty."

"Do the lives of your companions not matter to you?" Formora asked as she drew her blade, standing ramrod straight as she observed him. He could tell by looking at her that she was confident in her abilities to win. Despite the fact that she could have several Eldunarí with her, Eragon was not willing to back down. He had stumbled upon a Forsworn and he was not going to let his chance slip through his fingers.

"I am only concerned with the opponent before me," said Eragon feeling his darker side come forth.

"You will let your men die?"

"If you plan to kill them," said Eragon coldly, "Then do so. Sacrifice is always a part of the world's workings." Her surprise was apparent as she stared at him. _That was right. To change the world, one had to sacrifice everything…even his humanity._

Formora studied him for a long moment before her lips curled upwards into a smile, a hint of her bloodlust showing. "For a Rider that fights for what was his perceived idea of justice you speak much like a Forsworn," she lifted her blade into the air. "Very well, if you want to see to your own death, I shall not deny you."

With that said, Eragon darted forward faster than any elf could comprehend. Though he may have travelled back a hundred years in time and had not fought in battle for nearly three decades that did not mean his skills had waned. If anything, his lack of fighting had made him eager for the battle to come. As he neared Formora, he turned and feigned to her left, arching in towards her. When their blades met, Eragon could see how startled she was at his speed and ferocity.

_Arya, _thought Eragon as he felt the part of her within him stirring to life at the sense of danger. _Give me strength._

Pushing her back, he brought Vrangr up to swipe at her which she blocked but she was late in dodging from Brisingr flying towards her and he managed to slice a clean cut on her shoulder, drawing a thin line of blood. Instantly, her earlier attitude disappeared, only to be replaced by an air of anger at the slight injury.

He drew back as she regained her bearings and instead charged at him. Parrying a blow, Eragon continued to battle her at a ferocious speed noticing as the fight continued how Formora seemed to grow frustrated. He was not going to be easy to kill off and he was going to show her that. Pushing her back once more, he blinked when she turned and managed to cut him across the cheek. The moment the cut appeared, Arya's magic came forth and he was healed.

Feeling the warmth of her magic as if it was a caress of her hand on his face, Eragon turned to Formora. Her eyes were hard and she seemed to be taken aback by the sudden appearance of the green light of magic. "I hope you've learned that I will not be easily killed," said Eragon as he made his way towards her not one trace of fear in him. His grip on Brisingr and Vrangr tightened.

She did not say anything but merely lifted her hand and he heard a loud bellow from above. Glancing up, he threw himself to the side as sharp talons came bearing down on him and a large brown dragon came diving from the sky. Wincing as one of the talons pierced his arm, he pulled away as the dragon swept Formora up in its paw allowing her to climb onto its back as it took flight.

"You may not have died today but if we ever cross paths once again then I shall not be as gracious," Formora called down to him with a victorious look. Eragon frowned watching as the pair hovered in the air above him for a moment longer before they turned and flew west, no doubt back to the Empire.

Without Saphira, he could not give chase. Instead, he merely sheathed his blades and turned to study his left arm where the brown dragon had injured him. The wound was closing up and the skin was soon healed. _So that was Formora._

Glancing back at the river, his frown deepened. Though he had heard of her cruelty and her need for bloodlust there was something about the Forsworn that confused him. His mind thought back to the earlier singing he heard and once more he felt puzzled. Perhaps her pastime was not to torture the less fortune or struggle for power with the other Forsworn. He chuckled darkly to himself. To think someone as corrupt as Formora would enjoy singing. _Next we meet Formora, I shall not hesitate._

With that thought in mind, Eragon began to make his way back to camp where he would later spend a good hour calming his troops who had heard the bellows of Formora's dragon. The following days in their travels, he did not catch sight of the Forsworn and when they were within the borders of Surda, he could not help but wonder why it was the Formora had suddenly decided to back down. _And then the Eldunarí, _thought Eragon bemused, _why had she not fought with everything she had? Why did she retreat?_

"Go retrieve our cargo," said Eragon as they entered the markets of Aberon, the capital of Surda. "And do not tarry, we must return to the Varden in due time. Do not cause any trouble in the city, it would be poor repayment to Lady Marelda and her kindness to us."

"Of course sir," they saluted to him and began to hurry about with the carts to gather their things. Watching them for a moment longer, Eragon turned to study the bustling markets of Aberon. It was still a rather young country thought Eragon as he stared about the capital. Letting his thoughts wander, he blinked when his eyes fell on a peculiar shop in which many odd plants were stationed outside.

"Marlow," Eragon called to the soldier. "Stay here to oversee the others. I will be back shortly."

Marlow nodded and turned to continue giving out directions. Meanwhile, Eragon had strode over to the shop with a feeling of certainty. Pulling the door open, he stepped in taking in the odd eccentricities within the shop and the peculiar smell.

"Ah, hello, may I help you?" standing there studying a plant was a beautiful young woman with dark red hair and fair skin. She wore a simple kirtle that made her look like a simple working girl but Eragon knew her to be more. He stopped short as he took in his faithful servant or the woman that one day would become his faithful servant. When he did not answer her, Rosalie lifted her head, her lips parting to speak once more but she stopped short when she took in his appearance.

He inclined his head to her as she took in his pointed ears, the swords that he carried, and his fair features. It was a wonder to see her emerald eyes once more thought Eragon as he stared at Rosalie. There was a loud clang in the back of the shop causing Eragon to avert his eyes to stare over her shoulder. He caught sight of a short, curly-haired woman and felt a faint smile curve onto his lips.

"What is it Rosalie? You are as still as a stick in the mud," Angela bustled about her apprentice to catch sight of Eragon and she appeared startled.

"Angela, the herbalist?" asked Eragon with a faint smile.

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**Just slowly working my way about the Forsworn. I was always interested in Formora's character so I want to see where she'll end up in this story. In any case, more shall come to you all soon! Please be anxiously waiting! I hope to see you all soon in any case!**


	12. Chapter 12

**Hmm...well there was a request from some action...so hopefully this chapter fills in some of that need...but a full battle won't be happening for a few more chapters. In any case, I don't think there is much to say really, so I'll let you all go ahead and read the chapter. Have fun! R&R! **

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Before Angela could say anything, there was a slight shuffle of sound to his left and he glanced over at the source of the noise. A pair of red eyes suddenly flashed from the dark space beside him, and a large, fierce cat leapt onto the counter. It had a lean body with powerful shoulders and oversized paws. A shaggy mane surrounded its angular face; its ears were tipped with black tufts. White fangs curved down over its jaw. Altogether, it did not look like any cat Eragon had ever seen. It inspected him with shrewd eyes. He tilted his head to the side.

It appeared as if Solembum had been a long-time companion of Angela's. That in itself was rather interesting. Perhaps one day he would learn as to why the werecat was so loyal to Angela. It was rare to see a werecat so attached to a human even if it were for amusement as Solembum had once told him. Then again, he doubted if Angela was human. But he dared not say that aloud. Instead he glanced at Solembum once more before he raised a brow.

"I would not think to see a werecat in such company," said Eragon watching as red eyes stared up at him in curiosity. "We are well met werecat."

_Though I have many names, you may call me Solembum, _he felt Solembum's mind touched his and made sure to keep any important information withheld from the werecat. His tail twitched as he observed Eragon before he let out a small noise stretching on the counter. _Well met indeed, Rider._

"Solembum is a fitting name," said Eragon as he turned his eyes to Angela and Rosalie who appeared startled that Solembum would speak to him. He turned back to the herbalist once more glad to see her. She was as he remembered. Her personality was as eccentric and witty as ever.

"And might I ask who you would be?" asked Angela as she neared him peering up at him with gleaming eyes as if she had found a new experiment that particularly interested her.

"Eragon."

"In name or in person?" asked Angela with bright eyes causing Eragon to falter for a moment. He thought about her question and soon found his answer.

"In person," said Eragon. He was not a Dragon Rider in this time and therefore he could not claim to live up to his namesake—the first Dragon Rider in history, Eragon. Angela nodded and began to bustle about the shop while Rosalie made to move out of her way. It was somewhat unnerving how her expression was trained on Eragon. Though he had never felt uncomfortable with Rosalie before, the one before him was doing just that.

"Interesting," said Angela with a nod, her curly hair bouncing. "Now what is it that you have come here for? I don't run a store just to prattle on. Is there anything you want? Or did you only come in to look?"

"Actually I had a question that I thought that perhaps you could answer," said Eragon smiling as he approached Angela easily manoeuvring about her shop, his eyes darting to a flower. The stalk was a deep ebony and he had a feeling that the flower was not exactly the most harmless of flowers.

"And what would that be?" she asked, peering at him. "I presume that there should be little for one such as you to ask of." Was she basing her words off his appearance as an elf or was she hinting that she might know something greater? In any case, Eragon did not bother to ask her. Instead, he spoke the question that he knew would irritate Angela.

"Do toads and frogs really exist?" asked Eragon watching as the curly haired witch pause in her bustling, turning her large eyes onto him. Beside her, he could see Rosalie's confused expression at his question. He pressed on, his smile growing wider. "Or are all frogs toads? Or perhaps all toads are frogs."

He watched as she frowned, her brows creasing as she thought of the answer to his question. Then after a long moment, she threw him a look as if cursing him for piquing her curiosity. "Such an odd question but one that no one has ever had the thought to address. Do toads and frogs really exist? Perhaps toads do not exist and then there will be a sudden lack of evil and witches cannot use them to make spells. Very curious indeed." Her eyes flickered back to Eragon and it appeared as if she wanted to say something but caught herself. Instead, she tossed her curly hair and regarded him with a piercing stare. "Though I doubt that you shall linger long enough for me to give you an answer to your question."

"No," Eragon shook his head. "I must be heading back soon, my men are waiting for me."

"Your men?" Angela raised a brow before her curiosity seemed to have grown even more. "I see, so you are from the Varden. How strange. How strange indeed…" She never made any mention to elaborate on her thoughts but instead began to murmur quietly to herself.

He waited, watching her with amused eyes. Angela had never failed to disappoint him and that statement held true as he watched her. Her personality was always a highlight compared to all others. After a long moment of merely speaking to herself, she turned her bright eyes on Eragon once more. "And if I answer this question for you, what shall you give me in return?"

"Let us practice in a system of exchange," suggested Eragon knowing that he would only serve to further heighten Angela's curiosity which would in turn spur her into action. He had always believed that Angela served a greater purpose than merely sitting and working in a shop selling herbs and telling false fortunes to noble lords and ladies merely to cheat them of their coin. "If you were to do something for me than I shall return the same sentiments for you. We shall use this question as an example, if you answer it for me then I shall answer a question that you ask of me. Does that not sound like a fair exchange to you?"

He inwardly grinned knowing that Angela oftentimes liked to play unfairly. But he knew her personality and he knew that he would be able to match her for once in their games. After all, he had a century of knowledge to bait Angela with. Eventually, she drew herself to her full height to pin him with a stare that showed her determination.

"Very well, I accept your offer and do not forget it," said Angela with a gleam in her eyes as if she had already won.

"I will not," promised Eragon. He stood there for a moment longer before turning to stare outside the window towards where his men stood. They appeared to be almost done loading the cargo. Turning back to Angela, he was already starting to feel somewhat saddened at leaving the witch. Though he and Angela liked to partake in what Arya called 'bawdy' and 'ineloquent' banters, it was always enjoyable. And then there were times where he and Angela would butt heads like Urgals did during fierce battles but he did not forget that the witch before him had once saved his and Arya's lives and for that he would always be grateful even if Angela did not realize it at the moment.

"In any case, I believe it is time that I take my leave," said Eragon as he stared down at the short witch. "I shall wait for the day that you come seek me for the answer that is due to you, Angela."

"Then prepare yourself for that day is quick in coming and I already have a question that I want you to answer," said Angela which made Eragon raise a brow. He could only guess as to what question she had in mind for him but he did not say anymore. Instead he turned to leave acknowledging Solembum on his way out before pausing at where Rosalie stood. During his entire time within Angela's shop, she did not utter one word to him and it felt odd for him to leave not saying something to his once faithful servant—the very same who would, at one time, throw away her life for his.

"May I ask what your name is?" asked Eragon.

She blinked before answering, "Rosalie."

He nodded and sought words. What could he say to Rosalie without appearing as if he knew too much about her? Despite all of their beliefs, Eragon always had paid great attention to his servants and their actions even though he did not understand them half of the time. Rosalie, he knew, did not enjoy living an extended life. She had been unable to live normally with other humans due to the fact that she could not age and because of that she could not marry, have children, or live a normal life with a regular human. And that was why she had followed Angela for the herbalist did not age and through time, Angela had become her sole companion. That was at least until she found Eragon and had chosen to follow him. Though he did not say it, he had always been grateful to Rosalie and her care.

"If you ever tire of life," Eragon eventually began his mind still searching for words to convey his message to Rosalie without alarming her. "There is always a place for someone of your skill and talent within the Varden." With that said, he inclined his head to her and went on his way.

As he suspected, Marlow had done an efficient job in loading up the cargo on the carts for them to return to the Varden. Nodding at Marlow as he acknowledged Eragon, he strode forward and mounted Creed taking a look at their formation. The carts were at the center rear giving them the safest position amongst them while everyone else was stationed about the cargo accordingly. Those on horseback rode at the edge of the formation while those now on foot were stationed towards the inside. Taking one last long look, Eragon turned to the front and nudged Creed gently. His charger snorted and without another prod took off galloping back the path in which they came.

Letting Creed lead the way, he could not help but think about Angela. If she did what he thought she would do, soon enough she would be joining the Varden once more. Though he did not know much about the witch to begin with, there was an aspect of her that Eragon had fully grasped with ease. Angela was curious and had a desire to be present for what she deemed as 'interesting events'. Understanding these two characteristics of Angela made it simple enough to gather her attention and then she would fill in the rest. Angela had always been much more intelligent and observant than anyone else he'd known even more so than the elves. She would one day come to a conclusion that he was not from this time and he could only wait until she did for that would be a burden lessened for him.

_A burden shared is a burden halved._

His mother's words echoed within him and he felt himself frown. He had always been too prideful to ask others for help but as the years passed in which he spent by himself, he came to realize that at times he needed help. And his pride would only serve to hinder any sort of progress if he let it get the better of him. Yet despite his acknowledgement of his flaw in character he was not going to go out of his way to ask for assistance. If it was offered to him, he would not decline it but he wasn't going to ask for it outright. Perhaps it would take another twenty years before he could even think about opening his mouth to ask others for help.

Staring forward as Creed galloped with ease back in the direction of the Beor Mountains, he focused on returning to the Varden. The traveling took much longer than it did to Surda. With the extra cargo, the horses easily tired and the men that were not on horseback did not have the energy to keep up and though Eragon was oftentimes easily frustrated he did not say a word and rested when they needed to. It was not the first time that he was reminded of their difference in capabilities.

On the fifth day of travel, while they were moving along the Beartooth River was when Weldon's fears presented itself. Riding easily astride Creed, Eragon blinked when he felt a billow of air beat down on him. Glancing up, he was nearly blinded when sparkling amber rays pelted his eyes as an enormous dragon flew by overhead, its flapping wings sending bursts of strong air down on them. _A Forsworn?_

Gritting his teeth, he turned back to find his men staring up at the sight with wide eyes having never before seen a Dragon Rider before. _First Formora and now this, _thought Eragon grimly as he tightened his grip on Creed's rein reaching out with his mind to touch Creed's. He willed his steed to continue moving despite its natural instincts to shy away from the dangerous predator.

"Do not break formation!" Eragon called back to his men as they nodded leaning lower on their saddles so that they could move at a quicker pace. He had suspected that they would not be able to make it through the entire journey unscathed but he had not expected a direct confrontation with a Forsworn. He had fought with Formora but it did not feel like a battle to him. Instead, it felt like she was merely playing him. This new Rider, however, was unlikely to share to same sentiments as Formora did.

They continued to travel, the dragon and his Rider flying above them. They made no move to attack and Eragon blinked confused as to why they would merely fly above them. Were they merely antagonizing them? He glanced back to find the majority of his men frozen with fear on their steeds, their faces gaunt against their surroundings and sweat beading on their brows. It was clear to him then that they lacked the courage to fight such a strong opponent.

_To think that even their mere presence is enough to stir such fear, _thought Eragon displeased with the entire situation.

His company continued traveling and when he thought that the Forsworn was not going to attack he stood corrected. When Eragon and his men reached the curve in the Beartooth River, the Rider atop the amber dragon lashed out for the first time. Eragon blinked when a flash of white light nearly blinded him and one of his men from the right flank toppled to the ground lifeless.

There was a cry from the soldiers but Eragon continued forward. There was no time to stop and think about the dead. When they made to break formation, Eragon urged them forward. "Do not stop!" he called back to his men as he continued to lead them forward. "If you hesitate, you shall end up destroying the formation and endanger the lives of your companions!"

He could tell that they wanted to argue for their fallen comrade but they continued with hesitation. If he allowed them to break to retrieve a fallen body it would leave them in a disarray for the Forsworn to pick off. "But sir, the body—" one of his soldiers protested with wide eyes.

"Dead is dead, you cannot change that fact," said Eragon harshly as he continued to spur Creed forward. "Whether or not you have a body does not mean anything. Do not sacrifice the lives of those still living for the memories of those who are not."

He could tell from the shine in the soldier's eyes that he disagreed with what Eragon said, but he did not question him. _That was the price to pay, _thought Eragon with a hard expression, as his eyes scanned their surroundings for some sort of cover to use to force the Rider aground. It was almost impossible to think with the noise about him which was a combination of the hooves of the horses as well as the carts rolling against the dirt ground and the heavy footfall of his men who were not on horseback.

There was another flash followed by a strangled cry and another one of his soldiers fell. _This was a game to them, _thought Eragon as his eyes flickered upward to the take in the sight of the figure sitting astride the saddle of the dragon. The way they plucked off his men appeared similar to a game of darts one would play in a wayfarer's house.

Urging his men forward, his eyes darted about and he saw it then to his right. Though it was off course, it would serve his purpose well. Immediately, he tugged on Creed's reins directing him in the direction Eragon wanted him to go. His steed relented and moved to follow his orders as he men did not questioning him. Near the valley were small alcoves where his men could take shelter in so that he could deal with the problem at hand. Lifting his hand, he held it out to his right.

Understanding his intentions, his men began to part from him like water about a weathered boulder. His eyes darted to them as they divided themselves into halves to take shelter under the rocky overhangs that the mountains provided. Satisfied with his decision, he glanced up to find the Forsworn still following him. _I shall force you to the ground._

"Go Creed!" Eragon urged his charger.

Tossing his head, Creed galloped forward towards the valley where it was large enough for the dragon to land. Bending low on his saddle, his eyes chanced a glance upwards to find the amber dragon flying above him. The moment the Rider landed he was going to show the Forsworn the consequences of treating him as a mere piece in a game.

_Brom is not the only enemy you should worry yourself over, _thought Eragon determined as he rode Creed through the valley, the shadow of the dragon above them eclipsing them. Feeling his blood pound in his ear and his adrenaline race through his blood, he mentally reached for his magic that he had stored in Aren, ready to use it in case he needed to.

Above them was another flash of light but the magic was not directed towards him. Instead, the beam of crackling amber light collided with the valley face to his right and instantly large boulders began to descend upon them. Eragon frowned feeling his irritation grow. It would take more than mere rocks to finish him. Holding out his right hand, he reached for the sizable amount of energy he'd stored in Aren over the six years leaving the sapphires in his swords as a last resort. Grasping at the torrent of energy, he gathered his breath before whispering in the ancient language.

The rocks rolled to a stop before they could dare to crush him and Creed and with another whisper, he watched as the boulders flew into the air with great speed towards the Forsworn flying above him. To his great satisfaction he watched as the amber dragon hastily moved to dodge the large boulders so that it would not make contact with its wards.

As Creed continued to gallop forward with Eragon's mental urgings, he waited for the next attack that the Forsworn could possibly have in store for him. It appeared as if the dragon was not going to land yet. His eyes darted back towards the entrance of the valley where his men were waiting for him. Whatever the Forsworn planned on doing, he could only hope they would not delay for he did not like being kept from a task.

Rather than try to incite fear in him, it appeared as if he had insulted the Forsworn with his attack with the boulders for the next thing the Rider did was send a jolt of amber energy towards Eragon to which he blocked with his magic. Then just to show the Rider that Eragon was not a foe to be fooled with his raised his right hand once more. "Garjzla!"

A bolt of sapphire light flew from his palm towards the Dragon Rider and he watched as it was deflected. The second attack appeared to have done it for the dragon suddenly stopped its flight and hovered suspended in air. Eragon blinked watching it. Then without warning, the amber dragon swooped down opening its maw as a deafening bellow filled the air. A second later a torrent of yellow-orange flames came bearing down on them. Though Eragon was warded, he had not warded Creed from the flames and so before the fire could scorch his steed alive, he called forth his magic once more wrapping it about the charger.

The sight of flames seemed to alarm Creed and his horse nearly tried to throw him off as it bucked in panic at the sense of danger once more. After great effort, he managed to calm the horse as the flames parted over them as if blocked by an invisible shield. When the flames finally subsided to reveal a mist of black smoke seeing as it scorched any of the plant life it came into contact with, Eragon frowned as he searched for the dragon and his Rider.

He did not have to search long, however, when a bellow to his right caught his attention. Turning on his saddle he watched as the dragon folded his wings close to his body before tipping forward to dive through the air much like how Saphira would when she went to land. Like an arrow at great speeds, the amber dragon began its descent to the ground and when it was close enough it appeared to almost crash; the amber dragon unfurled his wings before alighting on the ground with ease.

"Easy," Eragon murmured in the ancient language to Creed as the horse pawed at the ground nervously at the sight of such a large predator. Eragon blinked when the amber dragon turned its eyes on him. Its amber irises were clouded with anger and madness akin to a rabid wolf. _It is saddening, _thought Eragon feeling an ache in his chest at the state of the race of the dragons. It appeared as if the only sane dragon currently was Glaedr and even then the golden dragon was not whole. No dragon was in this time and perhaps that was why Saphira, Eridor, and Thorn were so majestic. Because they were young and whole and not crazed and lacking of identity.

"I applaud you," a voice floated over to him from the figure that was strapped into the saddle of the amber dragon. "I had not anticipated that an ant such as yourself would be so difficult to kill. My apologies for underestimating you, elf."

"And who might you be?" asked Eragon with a frown, keeping a steady grip on Creed.

There was a moment of silence before a mocking laughter greeted his ears and he watched as the dragon lowered his head to show his Rider. Sitting atop the saddle was a young man looking as if he was only a few years into his second decade. His hair was a bright blond against his fair skin which was now beginning to show the angled features of an elf but overall he still possessed the ruggedness that was characteristic of humans. His eyes were unnaturally red and for a moment Eragon was reminded of Durza.

"My name?" he repeated with a grin. Eragon blinked already disliking this Forsworn more than Formora. There was a rude arrogance to the man before him that did not sit well with Eragon. He had no trouble believing that this man was one of the thirteen traitors that comprised the Forsworn. "I go by plenty of names, it depends on what you are asking of me. However, seeing as you have managed to thwart my attacks I believe that allowing you to know who shall kill you is but a small favor that I should give to you. Listen well elf for I shall not repeat myself, I am Darius."

Darius? What a bland name thought Eragon as he continued to stare up at the Rider that was smirking down at him. His eyes darted to the amber dragon that was baring his fangs at Eragon and Creed then back to Darius. "And what is the name of your dragon, Darius?"

He knew the question was an insult to the Forsworn and could only inwardly smirk when he saw the dangerous expression that crossed Darius's face as he stared down at Eragon in great distaste. From what Eragon could tell from his encounter with Formora and now Darius, it appeared as if the Forsworn were greatly protective of their dragons or what remained of their dragons. Since the banishing of names, it appeared as if the dragons could no longer defend themselves to verbal insults. And the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. For if one were to call one of the dragons weak or pathetic, the dragon could not refute the claim by saying _I am not weak _or _I am not pathetic, _for in a way that was a form of naming.

"Whether you call it brazen audacity or a spark of courage I care not," said Darius with a dark scowl as he stared down at Eragon. "That insult shall not be taken lightly. Be prepared elf, you shall be the first to die since your loss at the Battle for Urû'baen."

Eragon raised a brow not feeling the least bit threatened by Darius's words, instead he calmly gazed up at Darius as if he was nothing more than a rather uninteresting spectacle. "Before you make do on your word to do away with me," said Eragon feeling as if he could already understand the workings of Darius's mind, "Why are you here in the Beor Mountains?"

"His majesty has given us leave to do as we pleased. And what better pastime than torture the inhabitants in this corner of Alagaësia? In any case I was hoping to see if I could find good game here and it seems as if my prayers were answered," Darius's eyes wandered back to Eragon before he smirked. "Formora and Kialandí are never enjoyable to spar with. They always claim to be the better simply because they are _elves." _Darius scoffed as if finding such a claim unreasonable.

And there was the break thought Eragon as he observed Darius. Though the Forsworn did not know it but he was giving Eragon a great insight on his personality. Already, he could piece together a part of Darius's personality. He appeared loyal to Galbatorix and he did not like elves due to their superior outlook over others. _He must have felt that way when he was still training, _thought Eragon interested. Darius, no doubt, hated feeling inferior to the elves.

"I have yet to see anything from you to prove that you are the better between the two of us," said Eragon with narrowed eyes. "All you have done is hide behind your dragon and toss spells at me in hopes that perhaps you would finish me off easily."

"It appears as if your entire race hinders around the concept of rudeness," said Darius with a displeased look as he undid the straps of his saddle to jump down onto the ground. Seeing him dismount from his dragon, Eragon copied him sending Creed safely away as he turned to Darius unsheathing Brisingr. Having not noticed the sword earlier, Darius's eyes darted to Eragon with a frown. "A Rider? I have never seen your face before in Doru Araeba."

Eragon did not answer him but he lifted Brisingr in his arms as he faced Darius his left hand moving to unsheathe Vrangr. "What would you remember in the three decades you have been grovelling at Galbatorix's feet?"

"More than anything those old windbags could have taught me," snarled Darius, his attitude immediately changing at the insult Eragon threw his way. They stared at each other for a moment. Having learned patience, Eragon did not attack first seeing as he did not want to put himself in such a close range of the amber dragon. Instead, he waited for Darius to attack him. The man did not disappoint for a few seconds passed before Darius was upon him, amber blade flashing.

When the sword came flashing down on him, he brought Brisingr up to meet the amber blade at the hilt watching as Darius's snarl grew into a sneer of intense hatred. Letting him struggle against Eragon for a moment, he gathered all of his strength and threw Darius back. Not letting the man regain his bearings, Eragon darted forward both Brisingr and Vrangr flashing in his hands as he run forward to meet Darius once more.

Their blades met once more but this time, Eragon did not merely allow him to focus on their blades. Bringing up his foot, he used Darius's focus on their interlocked blades to sweep the man's feet from underneath him causing him to stumble. Seeing his chance, Eragon drove Brisingr forward only to have his sword knocked to the side. Twisting away, he slid past the amber blade and brought Vrangr about full circle to knock the pommel into Darius's shoulder frowning when he was met with resistance. _Wards._

Shuffling backwards, he glanced at Darius who was looking at Eragon as if he was finally seeing him. Somewhat irked that he could not make it past his wards, Eragon darted forward and easily sailed over Darius's sideways cut. Turning in the air, his leg made contact with the back of Darius's head sending him sprawling forward. But as he sailed through the air, Darius easily righted himself. He flipped to his feet and turned to Eragon with an intense expression of anger at the blow that he was just dealt.

Before Eragon could move, he blinked in surprise when he felt a heavy tail swipe at him from behind sending him sailing into the rock face of the valley with a resounding thud that echoed throughout the valley. Blinking at the pain, he instantly rolled away when he heard the hiss through air and Darius's blade tore through the rock that Eragon was momentarily resting against as if it were nothing.

Shuffling his feet backwards, he frowned as his eyes darted to the amber dragon that had used his distraction to lash out at him. Though the dragons were more primitive due to their lack of name, he could not underestimate them. They were still one of the most dangerous predators to ever walk the lands of Alagaësia. Making sure to give him and Darius's dragon a wide berth, Eragon twisted his torso allowing Darius's blade to fly past him for the second time and with Vrangr and Brisingr flashing brightly in the sunlight, he twisted bringing up his blade to meet Darius's. There was a moment of resistance when their blades met but the momentum from Eragon's attack threw Darius off and the man went skidding backwards.

A growl leaving his lips, Darius turned to him raising his left hand where Eragon saw the silver opal of the gedwëy ignasia. "Jierda!" But he did not aim his spell for Eragon. He aimed it towards the left wall face of the valley causing the rocks to explode shattering outwards and raining down on them.

Jumping back to avoid a boulder, he blinked when Darius appeared beside him his red eyes gleaming with a great touch of malice. He barely brought Brisingr up to parry a blow to his midsection before jumping back and to the right to dodge another falling boulder. When it appeared as if the rain of rocks would cease, Darius merely raised his hand once more before shouting, "Jierda!"

Instantly another hail of boulders came raining down on them distracting Eragon as Darius once more was able to work his way up to him and had it not been for his fact reflexes, he was sure he would have been gutted like a pig would have been for a feast.

Jumping back, he gathered his own magic this time and when Darius made to spring at him, he made the ground beneath his feet shift causing him to stumble and with his stumbling, Eragon ran forward and managed to slice him on his right forearm causing Darius to hiss in pain, his red eyes dilating in anger at the injury.

"You shall regret that," Darius hissed raising his left hand once more, his palm shining a bright orange. The orange began to pulse and before he could release his spell, Eragon felt another spell pull on him trying to immobilize him to the spot but he had wards against it and when his feet suddenly began to lock in place, the heaviness faded away, the magic negated by his wards. The moment the spell left Darius's palm, Eragon darted to the side as the orange ball of light collided with the ground causing an explosion of dirt and stone to encompass a radius of twenty meters.

Temporarily blinded, Eragon coughed swiping the dirt away from his face. He paused in the whirlwind of debris hearing a hiss of metal and immediately dodge as the amber blade flew up and over his head. About done with the fight, Eragon frowned as a thought passed through his mind. He could try it but it would be cruel of him. After a moment of contemplation and another dodge to the head, he cemented his decision. Dodging Darius as the man made another swipe at him, Eragon darted in the direction of the heavy breathing with Brisingr flashing in his hands.

Then with a great swing, he swung it in a sideways arch from the right. His blade met resistance before it easily sunk into flesh and slicing through to the other side. A tremendous roar of pain filled the air as Eragon hurriedly ducked back from the thrashing amber dragon. The debris finally settling down, he caught sight of Darius hurrying to his pained dragon's side; his face contorted in white fury.

"You!" his left palm was gleaming once more and his expression was filled with pure hatred for the wound dealt to his dragon, which was now pooling, unabated. "I—"

"Darius," they paused as a clear voice rang over the roars of the amber dragon. "That's enough."

Hovering above them on her brown dragon was Formora. She was staring down at them with a frown, her sapphire eyes narrowed. Darius blinked as he made his way to the saddle to pull out a black object which he held to the amber dragon's wound. Eragon watched in fascination as a web of magic burst forth wrapping around the stump of the dragon and moving to reattach the paw that Eragon had cut cleanly off.

"Have you seen what he has done?" demanded Darius, furious.

Formora's eyes darted to Eragon before returning to her comrade. "He has beaten you, a Forsworn. How disgraceful. If Galbatorix hears word that you were bested by a mere elf, he shall have much amusement in wondering why he had picked such a weakling Rider as a part of his new order."

"You—!"

"In any case, your game ends here," said Formora with an indifferent expression as Darius glowered up at her. "Galbatorix has called for us and it will be foolish on our part if we do not answer him." With that said her brown dragon turned west and flew off, but as she left, her eyes landed on Eragon once more, the sapphire irises gleaming before they were gone.

Frowning, Eragon turned to Darius to find that he had managed to reattach his dragon's severed body part. Then with eyes filled with piercing hatred, he regarded Eragon for a moment as he climbed onto his amber dragon's saddle. "You have not seen the last of us, elf. I shall have my revenge for what you delivered to my dragon."

With that said, the amber dragon pushed off from the ground taking flight into the air leaving Eragon to stand alone in the rubble filled valley. Flicking Brisingr clean of the dragon blood, he sheathed his blades as he regarded the great destruction that Darius had caused to the valley. It was as if a great river had reshaped it, for it now appeared differently from how Eragon had seen it before the battle. _He had several Eldunarí with him. _That much was clear.

Frowning, he kicked some rubble away from his feet as he heard Creed cantering over to where he stood. In the two encounters he had with the Forsworn, he was beginning to understand what lay behind them. Darius was easier to read but Formora… she was more difficult. He blinked when Creed nudged him.

Momentarily surveying the rubble once more, Eragon gripped Creed's reins and mounted the horse. He could only think as to what Darius would plan for vengeance, but when that time came he looked forward to it. As he rode away from the scene, his eyes lingered on the dark splatter of blood on the dirt ground. Though it was difficult to kill a dragon… he was willing to make the sacrifices necessary.

"Sir, are you injured?" Marlow asked when he re-joined his company.

He shook his head and lifted his right hand. "Everyone back into formation!"

They did so without question then as if nothing had happened, Eragon began to lead them back to the Varden. His mind was still buzzing from the recent events but one thought stood out the most to him.

Why did Galbatorix call his Forsworn back to the capital?

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**Why the name Darius? Because I just thought it fits that's why not much of a reason left and since Paolini only identified five of the thirteen Forsworn it basically gives me leeway to make up the others that haven't been spoke of which is daunting and exciting at the same time. In any case, I want the Forsworn to have different personalities and Darius is going to have a pretty nasty one compared to the others just a side note. In any case, there's some action but you all have to remember that the Varden isn't that big currently. It's still rather young and I don't think there will be a big battle for some years but I'll stew over that fact. (I know, I like action too...) In any case, I hope I updated a little faster this time around. It's not a daily update but hey...what can I do? (Once more engineering kills the brain and time too!) Anyways, I hope to see you all soon! **


	13. Chapter 13

**Another sort of filler-ish chapter but only because it was needed. This chapter actually had two versions to it (Eragon POV and Arya POV) after much contemplation I decided not to go with the Arya POV since it throws the story off too much and I didn't want to risk affecting the flow since it is rather tentative with all the time jumps. But in any case I have a feeling that this chapter speaks for itself. I hope you all will enjoy it! R&R! **

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The small piece of trust that he had earned from the Varden in six years was incomparable to the sudden admiration and trust that he had earned from them after his skirmish with Darius and his dragon. Though his men appeared to have embellished the story somewhat by detailing it out to be a grand battle that Eragon was certain that it was not, the overall message was conveyed. He had fought a Forsworn, one of Galbatorix's strongest servants, and had come forth unscathed. That alone had managed to impress Weldon tremendously and the people of the Varden appeared to be much more welcoming to him despite him being an elf. Their earlier distrust began to ebb away but it would be almost too hopeful to say that no one distrusted him. He could tell that there were still few amongst the Varden that refused to give up their learned prejudices and nor was he going to go out of his way to try and change their viewpoint. In his view, everyone was entitled to their opinions and to deny them would be the signs of an oppressor.

In any case, the battle with the Forsworn had made his presence in the Varden more acceptable to the people now. The enthusiasm and cheer died quickly, however, with the amount of work placed before them. Though the dwarves had given the Varden refuge in Tronjheim, the organization itself could not depend on the dwarves to survive. The most important obstacle was self-sufficiency. While Weldon was busy trying to find ways to improve the standard of living within the Varden as well as fund the rebel group, Eragon was busy night and day training the soldiers and teaching the members of the Du Gata Vrangr, which was steadily growing into a group of spellcasters that could hold their ground against those in the Empire's.

It was during one lesson a few months after his encounter with Darius and Formora that Eragon was pleasantly surprised.

"Now," said Eragon as he stood before his senior apprentices while the less apt ones practiced on their own in the back of the room. "There are some basic fundamentals to—"

"It appears that I have the right place," a rather bright voice intruded on his lesson causing everyone including Eragon to stiffen in surprise. His eyes immediately darted to the source of the voice to find Angela bustling into the room without any sort of pretense or warning. Trailing behind her was Solembum in his cat form and then almost reluctantly, Rosalie finished off the triad. He watched as his servant quietly closed the door behind her as if to avoid disturbing the peace which had already been shattered by her eccentric teacher.

"Is something amiss?" asked Eragon as if it were norm for Angela to suddenly burst into his lessons. He stared at the curly haired witch as she made her way to where Eragon stood barely giving his students a glance over before turning to him.

"I hope that you have not forgotten your promise to me," said Angela her eyes gleaming. Interested in what she might have to say before his students, Eragon turned to fully face her with a raised brow. Though he did not give much thought to her sudden intrusion, it appeared that Petra was appalled by the lack of respect or manners that Angela had when speaking with Eragon.

"I do but do you remember the terms that I have set forth?" asked Eragon.

The curly haired witch nodded and drew herself up to her full height which was not much seeing as she was a head shorter than Eragon was. "I have researched and experimented over the question that you have asked and have come a reasonable conclusion."

"Which is?" Eragon prompted though he already knew what her answer was going to be.

"All toads can be considered frogs, however, all frogs cannot be considered toads," said Angela with great enthusiasm. "Thus, all toads are frogs. Therefore when one looks at it, toads do not really exist. For if they are frogs why call them toads?"

"But that's—that's absurd!" Petra exclaimed finally having enough with Angela's eccentric personality. "A toad is a toad and a frog is a frog. There exist a reason for the difference in naming."

"Who are you?" asked Lucas as he pinned Angela with an incredulous stare. When he spoke, he drew Rosalie's attention and the moment the redhead turned to pin Lucas with a curious eye the young man turned a brilliant shade of red at her beauty. Amused, Eragon turned his attention back to his students for a moment.

"Let us end our lesson for today," said Eragon despite their protest. He raised his hand and shook his head. "I apologize but we shall continue where we left tomorrow. You all have my word." Catching sight of their disappointed expressions he waited until they cleared the room before turning to Angela while Solembum went to make himself comfortable on one of the stone desks and Rosalie busied herself with studying the many instruments that he had gathered to teach the members of Du Gata Vrangr.

"I have never thought that you would be a teacher, no less to a group of magicians," observed Angela gazing at him with her bright eyes. "You are very curious indeed, Eragon. Very curious…And what is more, we heard word from those of the Varden claiming that you have fought off a Forsworn and live to tell the tale. Interesting events seem to follow you it seems."

"Is that another one of your observations?" asked Eragon curiously. Angela had barely spoken to him for ten minutes and she was already piecing together in her mind that there was something strange to Eragon.

"One can say," then she grinned at him. "But enough of my observations, if I remember correctly you are required to give me an answer to one of my questions now."

"And what is it that you wish to ask of me? If it is mine to tell than I shall gladly repay you the favor for answering my question."

Her eyes darted to Solembum and Rosalie who were a distance off before she leaned closer to him, her voice dropping to an ominous whisper. "You are different are you not? You are not who you claim to be."

"The answer to your question would be yes," Eragon replied back in a low murmur. "I am not who I claim to be."

"Then—"

"But that is all you shall receive from me," said Eragon was he straightened watching as outrage filtered across Angela's expression. "You have answered my question and I have answered yours. Our bargain has been fulfilled." A feeling of mirth bubbled in him as he watched as Angela struggle to try and argue with him. "If you wish for something in return from me Angela, then you must first give me something."

"And what would that be?"

"Your assistance." He watched as her expression became one of contemplation as she thought over his request before her eyes narrowed.

"If you are asking that I assist you in teaching your students then I shall tell you now that I have no intentions of doing so. Though I have no qualms about using magic, I dislike doing so. I much rather prefer my herbs over spells in any situation or day," said Angela with an expression of disdain at the mere thought of teaching magic.

"I was not planning on asking you to do so," said Eragon waving away her concerns. "You have just arrived to the Varden. Why not make shop here and practice what you wish? There are some ingredients and herbs here that you can easily procure from the dwarves which you will not find elsewhere. If here you stay, there will be plenty of opportunities for the both of us to continue our system of exchange."

She sniffed at him, "Though it appears as if you have swindled me more so than agreed to a barter, your suggestion does have its merits." She thought long and hard, her eyes darting to Rosalie and Solembum. "I see no harm in staying about so long as no one bothers me that is."

"I shall see to it that you are left to your own devices," promised Eragon. His eyes flickered to her two companions. "And Solembum and Rosalie?"

Solembum lazily flicked his tail before Angela answered for the werecat. "He is not bothered. Besides, I believe he wants to see for himself what the Varden is all about nowadays and as for Rosalie…well, my decisions have no cause to affect hers."

"I shall stay," said Rosalie with a slight smile as her eyes flickered to Eragon. "And if you do not mind, I can help and assist in teaching your students more about magic. I am not the best of spellcasters but I am confident in my abilities to say that I am well off with magic, more so than others. If you would have me, that is."

He stared at her for a moment before he smiled. "I will not stop you. You are free to do as you will but your help will always be appreciated Rosalie." She smiled at him and while Eragon went to explaining to Rosalie what it was that he needed her help with in regards to Du Gata Vrangr, he could feel Angela's eyes on his back as she tried to divine who he truly was. He could only wonder if she could. After all, nearly three decades had passed and no one else seemed to be able to see through the façade of his. Then again, he was never deliberately helping them to do so. For Angela, he gave her a slight push and could only hope that she would be able to unravel that mystery on her own.

And so began three years in which he spent with Rosalie, Angela, and Solembum. It was odd to get to know the small entourage once more but it was also very amusing all the same. While the Varden was comprised of people with grave dispositions, Angela and Rosalie were certainly a breath of fresh air from the norm. Though there were times when he and Angela appeared to be at odds with each other, he genuinely enjoyed the witch's company. On more than one occasion, he found himself remembering how the witch had made it a personal mission of hers to unsettle Arya by trying to disgorge details of their intimate relationship from her. Though Arya was always mortified Eragon had always found it rather humorous even though in hindsight all of her crass comments were about him and Arya.

Then there was Rosalie. Like it was in his past—or future whichever one wanted to view it now—she had become a steady companion to him. She had made well on her promise and had assisted him in each lesson by teaching the members of Du Gata Vrangr the art of magic, particularly in the areas of healing since she appeared to be a master in it. And more than once an injured member of the Varden had come seeking her help. What bothered him, however, was how men seemed to just flock to Rosalie. How had he not noticed it before? He wanted to say something but it appeared that Rosalie handled herself well enough. She sent each admirer back with a rejection that was no harsher than kind indifference. It was almost cruel but he could not agree any more. In any case he thought that Blödhgarm was a better fit for Rosalie.

Shaking the thought from his mind, he turned back to meeting presently. While one of Weldon's advisors was speaking, he could not help but feel uninterested in what was going on. It had always struck Eragon as odd as to why Weldon insisted that he sit in on all of his meetings but Eragon had done as he was asked for he did not want to show any disrespect to the leader of the Varden who regarded him as a trusted advisor and friend.

His eyes darted to Weldon and he felt himself frown. The leader of the Varden who had once appeared whole and young to Eragon was now nearing the middle of his third decade. Though he was still young, there was slight sign of age to his face showing. Throughout the time he'd spent with the Varden, Weldon had always been a steady leader and companion. His relationship with Weldon oftentimes reminded him of the time he spent serving Nasuada.

About ready to merely close himself off from the conversation, Eragon nearly choked on his air when Weldon spoke once more. "I believe that I have managed to work about the obstacle regarding needs in this particular case," he pressed the tips of his fingers together as he regarded everyone at the long rectangular table with sharp eyes. "I have received word that the elves will like to join our plight against Galbatorix. They will not openly fight Galbatorix but they are willing to lend us aid through any means necessary as long as it is reasonable."

At his words, all eyes flickered to Eragon who merely sat there with an indifferent expression on his face. King Evandar had decided to offer support to the Varden? His heart pounded in his chest as different thoughts poured through his mind all revolving around Arya. Trying not to let his sudden anxiety show, he focused on what Weldon had to say about the idea.

"And when did you hear word of such, Weldon?" asked Berthold a rather sturdy looking man with a thick beard. Out of everyone on the Council of Elders, Eragon disliked Berthold the most. The man thought himself nobility amongst the people of the Varden which in itself was laughable since the Varden was an organization centered about those wishing to fight against Galbatorix. The fact that he even considered there to be any status of nobility about made Eragon want to mock the man.

"I received a report from them a few days earlier," said Weldon not appearing the least bit perturbed by Berthold's strong disposition. "An elf shall arrive shortly and act as the medium between the Varden and their people."

"You mean to say an ambassador?" asked Eydis with shrewd eyes. Eragon's eyes darted to her and he knew only too well what she was thinking. Eydis had not liked the fact that Eragon had gone far enough to staunch the powers of the Council of Elders but after a near decade of advising Weldon there was little else that the council could attempt without having Weldon's authority threatening to come crashing down on them.

"What I would like to know is why Eragon has failed to mention anything," Karvel turned to Eragon with a raised brow as if seeking to undermine his authority. Eragon merely ignored his rather insulting tone as he thought of the sudden news that Weldon had delivered. He would worry about the grudges that the Council of Elders held for him at a later time if at all and focus on the thought of the new elven ambassador to come. Was it Arya? Had she decided to take up the position as the medium between her people and the Varden? Feeling his heart constrict in his chest as he thought of the possibilities that it wasn't her, Eragon inwardly frowned. He would not let the council see how much Weldon's news had affected him.

Instead, he lifted his head to stare at them with a rather apathetic expression. "I have once told you before and I shall tell you again," said Eragon rather stiffly. "I am not here to represent King Evandar nor the elves. I am here of my own volition nothing more. And whether or not I do hear from the king it is not in my place to tell you."

He could tell from their expressions that they did not believe him but he did not say anything else when Weldon spoke once more his voice ringing clear. "In any case, this new elven ambassador shall be treated with respect and I shall not have for any impudence. As an ambassador this person is acting as our direct envoy to the monarch of the elven kingdom. I do not want to risk offending King Evandar and his generosity."

The Council of Elders did not say a word but Eragon could tell that the prospect of another elf was something that did not bode well with them. He could only inwardly smirk as he thought of how Arya would handle the council in the years to come. Though he never gave much thought to her actions since she had always treated him differently from others, it dawned on Eragon as he sat there how manipulative Arya could be. She truly was the daughter of Islanzadí and she had proven that time and again with her intelligence and overthought.

"When will this ambassador be arriving Weldon?" asked Saldís, her eyes hard and her lips pursed. If one were to observe her closely they could even say that she appeared to be distinctly displeased. Eragon's eyes darted to her and away as Weldon made to answer her question. If they were surprised by his appearance ten years ago, they would only be shocked into silence when they caught sight of Arya. Her beauty was enough to stun any lesser being.

"I heard word that the elven ambassador shall arrive in two days' time," Weldon said once more shocking them all but Eragon managed to school his expression into mild surprise even though in the inside he felt as if he was burning inside out. He was almost fearful for the day to come to set eyes on the elven ambassador. If it wasn't Arya, he was not sure how he would react. At the thought of it being someone else, his grip on his armchair tightened. "In any case, I shall be there to greet the ambassador as well as King Hrothgar. It is a great step now that the elves have decided to lend us their aid. We must be courteous…all of us."

His eyes swept across the table once more before he continued. What he spoke of next was of little consequence for Eragon paid him no heed and when it was time for them to be dismissed, he blinked when Weldon asked for him to remain behind. Before Weldon could attempt to say anything, however, Eragon, with a simple phrase in the ancient language, warded off the room from any listeners who would attempt to garner any information from their conversation.

"What is the matter that you wanted to speak to me of?" asked Eragon as he turned to Weldon from where he sat at his left hand.

"There is no need for you to use a formal tone Eragon," said Weldon with a slight smile as he steadily gazed at Eragon. "After all you have been a close advisor of mine since your arrival here. It is in great part due to your efforts that our strength is where it is today."

"You humble me."

Weldon merely chuckled. "Always so formal but I did not ask for your time for mere chatter, I know that you are very busy."

"I have plenty of time," said Eragon letting his fingers tap against the marble of the desk that he sat at. A second passed before he decided to amend his thoughts. "Or rather I can make plenty of time."

"I have no doubt about that," agreed Weldon. "In any case, there were some matters that I wished to speak with you of."

"Which is?"

"First and foremost, I apologize for not speaking to you earlier about the missive that I received from King Evandar. It was short notice and I did not want to bother you while you were busy. With the training of the soldiers as well as the members of the Du Gata Vrangr, you have your hands plenty full."

"It is of little concern," Eragon frowned as he leaned back in his chair. "Either way, I would have learned news of this in any event. The only difference is sooner rather than later."

"Still, I would like to reaffirm the fact that you are one of my most trusted confidant," said Weldon surprising Eragon.

"That is much praise," acknowledged Eragon with a tilt of his head.

"The missive did concern you," said Weldon causing Eragon to turn his head sharply to him in concern. Seeing his expression, Weldon merely waved his worries away. "One of the reasons why King Evandar had agreed to lending us aid was due to the tremendous changes that you have made for us. Our soldiers are trained and the Du Gata Vrangr are as competent as any group of spellcasters that Galbatorix has at his disposal. Though you may think that I am embellishing details of your success, in truth I am not. And because of that King Evandar has seen fit to lend his aid."

His disbelief at Weldon's words only grew as he continued to listen. For one long moment, he thought that he might be listening incorrectly but Weldon's expression did not change nor did he refute any of his words. He merely stared at Eragon waiting for him to acknowledge his gratitude. And when Eragon finally did, all he could do was nod.

_Have I become that important of a figure? _

It almost seemed difficult to believe. After a long pause, Eragon found his voice trying not to let his whirlwind of emotions show. "Is that the only matter you wish to tell me or perhaps is there something more?"

"I have received word from Brom recently," said Weldon, his hazel eyes turning rather serious. "It appears that he seems to have glean vital information about the Forsworn over the past years observing them." _The Forsworn? _Eragon frowned. He had only encountered the Forsworn twice and that was three years ago. Ever since the fight with Darius, he had not heard a whisper of them about the Beor Mountains. Whatever it was that Galbatorix had called them back for Eragon did not know. If there was one thing that he could chance to guess at it was that Galbatorix had an important task laid out for the Forsworn, so important that they had been otherwise occupied for the past three years.

"And what has he managed to find out?" asked Eragon with a frown.

"Apparently there has been a rather _outspoken disagreement _between a few of the Forsworn over the matters of the Shade, Durza," immediately Eragon stiffened at the name. He had not given Durza much thought as he had tried to reshape the Varden into a stronger force but it appeared as if the Shade was still about. _That was right, _Eragon thought to himself in deep contemplation, _Durza was the one to teach Galbatorix dark magic to turn on the Riders. What has he been doing all this time? _

The thought eluded Eragon and all he could do was nod as Weldon continued. "A select few disagree with his ways and that has caused a rift amongst the Forsworn. Brom believes that he can use this feud between them to our advantage."

"He wants to pit them against each other," murmured Eragon in understanding. It would work but only if all the Forsworn were as single-minded as Darius was. He thought of Formora and her cold intelligence and knew instantly that she would not easily be fooled by such a tactic. The only way to do away with someone like Formora was to personally see to her end. He thought about it for a moment and frowned. Though Formora was his enemy there was something about her that bewildered him.

Weldon nodded and continued. "He will be rejoining with us shortly to devise a few strategies so that we can finally begin to lessen Galbatorix's rule. After all, if we take away his servants we take away a source of his power."

_But not all of it, _Eragon thought grimly as his mind strayed to the Eldunarí. Whether or not Galbatorix had his Forsworn or even Durza for the matter, the king was a great adversary in his own right. That was not to be denied. They exchanged a few more words but it was clear to Eragon that what Weldon had said all he had to say and after a few more minutes of conversation, Eragon took his leave of the leader of the Varden.

"Well, what is wrong with you today?" asked Angela as she bustled about her secret room that she had found in her exploration of Tronjheim when she had first arrived. She flicked a purple mushroom at him and he did not have the heart to dodge it. Instead, he merely allowed the mushroom to bounce off of his head much to Angela's amusement. "I can only assume that something has happened to have caused you to wallow away in your apparent misery."

Eragon blinked lifting his head to pierce her with a frown. "Have you not heard the definition of solitude?"

"Solitude and depression are almost interchangeable nowadays," she stepped about a potted plant that glowed a deadly azure hue that not even Eragon would dare touch. "If you did not know, the two are often in company of each other."

"Are you trying to comfort me or are you deliberately irritating me?" asked Eragon with narrowed eyes as his eyes followed Angela about her room which was filled to the brink with strange plants and herbs as well as ancient trinkets. His eyes caught two crystal balls that revolved about each other, one crackling in sapphire energy and the other in golden energy. _Where did she come across all of this? _It was almost suspicious how Angela just seemed to gather strange new objects as the days went by.

"I shall leave that up to you to decide," she paused in her bustling. He watched as she bent over a wooden counter where several overly large leaves rested. After a moment's contemplation, she swept the leaves up in her arms looking rather ridiculous seeing as the leaves nearly swallowed her before returning to her boiling cauldron and stuffing the leaves inside whatever concoction she was making. "Now, tell me what is it that has put you in such a mood?"

He did not answer her only to be on the receiving end of another mushroom. This time a ruby mushroom the size of his fist hit him straight in his nose and the moment it touched his skin he felt his eyes sting and a violent series of coughs was torn from him.

"Oh wrong one," said Angela as Eragon continued to cough his face growing red with effort. He was about to snap at her but was unable to as his body continued to heave up tremendous coughs that he was unsure of how to stop. When Angela had finally given him the potion to stop his reaction to the mushroom he glared at her as she smiled in an almost cheeky way. "I meant to grab the black one but…my hand fell short."

"I will believe your words when I see it," said Eragon doubting the fact that she had not meant to intentionally throw the red mushroom at him.

"Hmm…" she turned back to the cauldron and began to stir with her wooden ladle and in the light that emitted from the mixture, Angela appeared rather demonic. He stifled a chuckle at the sight of the short curly haired witch. By appearance she appeared harmless but in battle, she was formidable as any foe. "I heard word that an elven ambassador shall be joining the Varden shortly. It appears as if events have become rather interesting as of late."

Not bothering to ask how she came across such information, Eragon merely turned away from her and busied himself with a silver disc like instrument on the counter while Angela went to stir the mixture in her cauldron.

On the day of the arrival of the elven ambassador, Eragon stood by Weldon's left hand side while Irvine stood by his right hand. The Council of Elders stood not far off. And to a few paces away he saw King Hrothgar and Orik. He only met the dwarf king and his adopted son a few times during his stay in Tronjheim but they were as he remembered and at times it was much easier to be within their company than others.

Studying Orik and King Hrothgar for a moment longer, Eragon turned his attention away from the two and instead focused his eyes on the entrance of the tunnel before them. The elven ambassador was said to arrive at Farthen Dûr by the east gate just like Eragon had a decade ago. Feeling his heart anxiously beat in his chest to the point that he thought it might explode, his fingers twitched almost imperceptibly.

He did not know how long he waited by Weldon but when he saw the shadows of the tunnel shift, his throat constricted and air was impossible to come by. The figure paused at the entrance of the tunnel but then the shadows seemed to fall back as the figure stepped out into the light.

The sight before him was comparable to being slammed into the gut by the tail of a ferocious dragon.

Standing proud and tall was Arya but not as the princess as he came to know her as in this time. She was as he had first met her. Her long midnight-black hair was held back by a leather strip bound around her head. She was dressed in dark leather pants and shirt. Wrapped around her slim waist was a shiny belt, from which hung a slim sword on her right hip and on her back she wore a bow and quiver. Knee-high boots covered her calves and small feet. He swallowed as he dared to chance a look at her face. Her sculpted face was as perfect as a painting. Her round chin, high cheekbones, and long eyelashes gave her an exotic look. But what made his heart ache the most was her beautiful emerald eyes.

After not having seen her for nearly ten years, he found that all he could do was stare at her. But a small part of his mind that was not in a daze by Arya's appearance was breathing a sigh of relief. She had chosen to become the elven ambassador for her people once more. His earlier fears were immediately quenched as if they never existed as he watched Arya. Her light honey colored skin was radiant in the light of the flameless lanterns and she moved with a slinking muscular grace that bespoke her skill with a blade, and also her supernatural strength.

He watched as her emerald eyes took in the crowd gathered before her before at last they landed on Eragon and when their eyes met, he felt as if he was struck by lightning. The emeralds of her eyes pulled him in like no other and time stood still for him then.

One by one everything about him began to fade as he felt his mind take him to a time and place that no longer existed. Rather than standing in Farthen Dûr, he found himself standing outside the city of Feinster and before him was Arya dressed exactly as she was now but with Támerlein hanging from her right hip. Her emerald eyes caught his and a myriad of expressions blossomed with great beauty across her face before settling on one—love. And she came to him, her hands outstretching, her smile beautiful…and _his. _

Instantly the image was torn away from him as he returned to himself. Arya had stopped directly before Weldon and due to his sensitive senses, he could smell the enticing scent of crushed pine needles.

"It is an honor to have you stand amongst us," Weldon spoke politely to Arya appearing just as surprised as everyone else apart from Eragon at Arya's appearance. "Allow me to be the first to welcome you to the Varden."

* * *

**Now with Arya back in the game, I believe things will get pretty interesting. I mean, there's so much going on at the moment. (Formora, Rosalie, the Forsworn, etc) and now with Arya back in the picture I believe things will just get intense for Eragon. Not to mention that I still have to introduce Fäolin and also write about what Arya had been doing the past decade. (Still iffy on doing Arya POVs for this story but I'm in debate at the moment.) In any case I hope to see you all soon! **


	14. Chapter 14

**After much thought I decided to go with an Arya POV for the first time in this story but this story will be unlike RL. There won't be much Arya POV in the early stages of TMF since I want to focus mainly on Eragon and splitting POVs too many times could end up making this story tremendously long (not that I haven't done something like that before!). In any case I hope this explains Arya a little bit in this story. R&R. **

* * *

Never before had the lush pine trees of Ellesméra appear more confining than they did now. The beauty of the forest only seemed to be a sore reminder of the vast world that laid outside of her reach. It reminded her daily of sights that differed from the pine trees and verdant grass. Even in the last decade the forest had remain untouched by time and the only indication of change was the blanketing whiteness of snow in the coming winter and the gentle breeze in the passing spring. Time passed too quickly and yet not at all in Ellesméra. It was ironic in its own right.

Letting her fingers glide over the sill of her open bay, her eyes flickered to the scenery of lush green leaves in which the sunlight poured through their gaps creating a myriad of lights. There was a calm serenity and beauty to the forest but never before had she felt so restless, so eager to do something. Eyes lingering for a moment longer, she turned away from her open bay window. It was not that she did not admire the beauty of her home, it was the fact that when she found herself lost in thought in observing the forest, time slipped by too quickly.

Already a decade had slipped through her fingers.

A decade in which all she did was contemplate—in which hesitancy gripped at her. Her lack of indecision plagued her and recently it made everyday life difficult to go by. What did she want in life? Walking through her spacious vine covered living room to her small study, she frowned slightly to herself. There was no point in continuing to let time evade her. Even if she was still deciding on a greater purpose for herself, there were duties required of her and her station. Being the daughter of Evandar Könungr required that she lived up to expectations set before her.

Entering her small study, she rounded the ornate pinewood desk to take a seat in the cushioned armchair. A neat stack of scrolls waited for her in the center but what caught her attention was the glass orb that rested on the left corner of her desk. Embedded in the orb was a white rose in its full blossom, its beauty forever captured and preserved by magic.

_In this world, Arya, there are flaming waters, frosty lands, and stone forests. There exist a world with many sights to behold and yet to be beholden._

How those words had chased her in the past decade. She wanted to see the world. She wanted to see what it was like—a world outside of Ellesméra. What was he doing thought Arya curiously as she let a single forefinger glide over the smooth surface of the glass. The giving of flowers was considered an important tradition of friendship within elven culture. There was more meaning to it than in other cultures for they considered flowers as a symbol of all things beautiful. And for Eragon to have given her such a gift told her that he considered her friendship important.

In the past nine years, Eragon had done something that no one else could have done for her. He had painted her a world that laid in waiting—a world that she was born to. It was a world in which she had the right to travel—the right to see.

_We are born to this world and it is our right that we are allowed to see the sights that it can give to us. Do not let anyone tell you otherwise._

Yet, she was unable to do so. _If you wish to see the world, you must first step outside of this forest. _And that was where her desires fell away. Though monarchs in the elven realm dedicated themselves to their people, it would not do well for her family nor her house if she decided to leave merely for her own interests. Her eyes darted to the petals of the white rose. Eragon had joined the Varden as he had told her before he had left. He had joined and had been working for the past decade to oversee the rebel group's efforts in fighting Galbatorix. He was fighting while she was doing nothing.

The thought made her restless.

Letting her finger linger for a moment longer on the cool surface of the glass, Arya retracted her hand and instead turned to the scrolls that needed her attention. Lifting the first scroll from the neat arrangement, she unrolled it to read the title of the scroll: _Growth of Du Weldenvarden. _

Like most of her days, she spent her time reading scrolls and reports and in turn compiled her own to turn into her father and mother for they would be the deciding factors on what actions their people should take in regards to what was reported to them. Brows furrowed deep in concentration, she diligently set to work and would have gone late into the night had it not been for the gentle rapping on the screen door of her chambers.

Pausing in her readings, she neatly marked where it was that she had left off before fluidly raising from her seat to make her way to her chamber doors. The moment her eyes landed on the person at the entrance of her chambers she felt the corners of her lips curve upwards. Fäolin had come to visit her once more. Opening her screen door she gestured for him to enter her living quarters.

"I apologize if I interrupted you," he was quick to apologize but Arya merely waved it away. His company, she had found over the past five years, was always very welcoming and pleasant.

"It is fine," Arya reassured him, she quirked a brow. "Though it is curious as to why you here. Is something amiss Fäolin ?"

His charming smile was the answer to her question. Though he was older than her, his smile made his appearance radiant with youth. His skin was fair and his characteristics sharp and handsome. What stood out to her was his cool sapphire eyes that reminded her of the sky or the clear surface of a flowing river.

"I was hoping if you would like to accompany me for a walk," said Fäolin . "The night sky is rather beautiful and the moon is full, it would be an opportunity missed if I did not ask one such as yourself to accompany me."

At his words, she smiled and without giving it much thought she nodded. Allowing Fäolin to lead her from her chambers, the two of them walked side by side together through the gardens of Tialdarí Hall taking in the beautiful night sky that was dotted with stars making it seemed as if diamonds were embedded into the darkness above. He was speaking the truth thought Arya as she admired the fullness of the moon which shone down upon them.

"You appear to be rather busy as of late," observed Fäolin , his head turned towards her as they strolled together through her ancestral home. "I have rarely seen you of late."

"Then you would admit that you have been looking for me?" asked Arya with a raised brow.

He only smiled at her. "I am afraid that you have spotted my intentions."

A pleasant flush suffused her as she thought of Fäolin paying heed to what she was doing. But as she thought of his question, she felt her mood dissipate slightly. In truth, it was not that she was busy with her duties it was that she was having difficulties trying to come to terms with her life. She was displeased with the course of her life but she did not know how to rectify it.

As if sensing the sudden change in her, Fäolin instead directed the question elsewhere. It was best that he did for her train of thoughts would only serve to unsettle him for Arya was not the only one seeking a way outside of Ellesméra—out of Du Weldenvarden. Fäolin sought it too but his indecision appeared to be deeper than hers. As they passed through the gardens, her eyes flickered to the white rose bush and she saw in her mind's eye a tall and fair chestnut haired elf studying the white roses.

_They mean much to me._

The part of her heart that was captured by Eragon's stories wanted to see him once more and listen to his tales of his travels. She wanted to hear about the sight of the world at the heights of the sky. She wanted to hear about the whiteness of the Beor Mountains. She wanted to hear about the dangers of the Spine. But most of all, she wanted to see it—see it all for herself.

However, she could not and that was because of Galbatorix. Though he had not attempted to breach the boundaries of Du Weldenvarden, she knew that it would only be time before he found a means to conquer the ancient wards that protected their forest from his tyranny. At the thought of Galbatorix, she felt an unpleasant feeling well up within her. He had betrayed the Riders and had killed off what once was a beautiful Order and had nearly caused the dragons to go extinct in his greed to be supreme. And if it had not been for Eragon, her father would have been another one fell by his blade.

If her father had died in the battle for Iliera, she could not even fathom how she would have reacted. Her father, she loved him. To think of him not being a part of her life made her heart clench somewhat in her chest and once more she was so fervently grateful to Eragon for having the bravery to fend off Galbatorix, the very man whom had killed off his dragon and brethren. _And now he is trying his utmost to fight against Galbatorix, _thought Arya distracted as she walked alongside Fäolin , _while I live here studying, practicing, and carrying out my duties as Arya Dröttningu._

"Is something bothering you Arya?"

Arya blinked turning her head to stare up at Fäolin . They had come to a stop and her eyes flickered about the gardens stopping when they once more landed on the white rose bush directly to their left. Her eyes shifted back to Fäolin as she shook her head, her dark hair gently moving with the movement.

"I was just thinking," said Arya. "It is a small concern." Lifting her head up, she took in the dark night sky and the once more glorious full moon. "It is certainly not important enough to ruin such a beautiful night."

She saw Fäolin 's lips quirk as he bestowed upon her a faint smile. "As you are."

Arya blinked in surprised. Apart from her family, no one had once called her beautiful. Compared to those of her race, there were certainly others who were considered fairer than she. For one, there was her mother, a striking beautiful and regal figure against the lush green of the forest. And though she was her mother's daughter, she knew she could not compare to her mother's beauty. No, thought Arya with certainty, she was not the most beautiful of her race and never had she given her appearance much thought.

Until Fäolin had vocalized it.

A pleasant feeling curled its way about her chest and suddenly she felt rather warm as she smiled at him. "You are too kind," murmured Arya as she reached out to let her fingers glide over the white petal of one white rose. Instantly, she thought of sparkling brown eyes and a small part of her heart longed to be standing within Rhunön's forge.

Distracted by her sudden thoughts she blinked when words spoken a decade ago came back to her.

_I have decided that now is the time for me to fight. It is my duty to those who have fallen under Galbatorix…to the whole of Alagaësia._

"Allow me to be the first to welcome you to the Varden," said Weldon in a polite voice but she could tell from his eyes that he appeared to be unsettled by her appearance. He was no doubt wondering why it was that a woman would be given such an important position amongst her people. She would never understand human culture and traditions despite her lessons years earlier on the human race.

"Your welcome is most pleasant," said Arya easily speaking in the human tongue. Her use of the human language was not as fluid as Eragon's though. While he could speak in the human language with ease and without an accent, her voice came out in a rich, accent. For a split second, her eyes darted to the elf that stood by Weldon's left hand and a wealth of emotion tore through her as she laid eyes on the first person she would call a good friend of hers. Though she did not understand why she felt the way she did, she was glad to see Eragon well and whole. While a decade in Ellesméra could flit by in a blink of an eye, the same could not be said for a decade spent in the Varden.

He stood proud and tall, his chestnut hair messy and his brown eyes deep and contemplative as he regarded her. For a moment, she wanted to reach out to him within the confines of her mind and ask that he did not reveal her title to the others but he made no move to regard her as a princess, which eased her mind. The clothing he wore were made of fine fabric she could tell. On his torso he wore a black jerkin, cinched at his trim waist giving his body an angular and strong look. His hosen pants were a matching ebony and his leather boots were the same dark color. For a moment, his attire matched hers in that all he wore was sable colored clothing. The only differing colors were from his swords and the ruby ring that he wore on his left hand.

He truly did look like a warrior.

"I am Weldon, leader of the Varden," her eyes flickered back to Weldon as he introduced himself. The leader of the Varden was as she had imagined him to be. He was tall and built with a stern disposition it appeared. His dark hair was beginning to show signs of gray and his hazel eyes were deep as they peered at her. "And this is my right-hand in command, Irvine."

Arya acknowledge him with a tilt of her head before Weldon gestured to Eragon. He appeared hesitant for a moment before he spoke. "I do not know if you have already met but this is Eragon, a trusted advisor of mine as well as leader of the Du Gata Vrangr." _Du Gata Vrangr? _The Wandering Path? Curious, she turned to Eragon who stared at her with a slight crease between his brows as if he was trying to figure out how to address her.

Making the decision for him, she allowed her lips to curve upwards slightly. It was a very imperceptible gesture, one that was easily missed but Eragon had saw. "We have met before," said Arya making note to remember the sudden vexed looks on several of the humans gather apart from Weldon and Irvine, both of whom appeared surprised by her words. "It is a welcome sight to see that you are well, Eragon."

"You as well," replied Eragon. He appeared as if he wanted to say more but refrained from doing so.

With one last glance between Eragon and Arya, Weldon gestured to the group of humans who stood to the side. Their expressions as they gazed at her ranged from distaste to a boiling lust that made her uncomfortable on all accounts. Calling forth her practiced calm, she allowed Weldon to introduce her to the Council of Elders.

It truly was a surprise thought Arya as she was introduced to those gathered. Never before had she seen another race apart from her own and to be in the midst of humans and dwarves awed her even if she did not show it. They were all so different from each other that it was unusual. Though her people were not exact in appearance, there were great similarities from one elf to the other. They possessed fair skin, sharp curves, and fine, smooth features. It was all so different that for a moment she was almost overwhelmed.

And when she met King Hrothgar, she could only feel humbled to be in his presence. Standing directly before her was the king of the dwarf realm and instantly she thought of the difference between her father and Hrothgar as well as their similarities. Eventually once the introductions were done, Weldon turned to her.

"And may I ask for your introductions as well elven ambassador?"

"I am Arya, the chosen ambassador for my people," answered Arya watching as several eyes blinked once more at the sound of her voice. "I shall be representing my people in order to better delegate our relations."

Weldon nodded and gestured towards the gates and the peaked halls that laid in waiting and instantly she felt her heart thrum in anticipation. She was going to be seeing Farthen Dûr for the first time in her life, something that most of her people had not had the chance to do so for centuries.

"Let me show you through Farthen Dûr and Tronjheim," said Weldon as he began to lead the way.

Emerald eyes bright, she made to follow him. Falling into step beside Eragon, she began to follow Weldon who walked beside King Hrothgar and Orik while the Council of Elders followed them not far off. As they walked she felt her anticipation grow. After hearing so many stories from Eragon, she could only think of how Tronjheim would appear.

As they walked, she made sure to answer questions directed her way but it appeared as if Weldon and King Hrothgar were content to merely speaking to her of the recent events in the Varden's history. While she was listening, her eyes were flickering about her surroundings taking in the stone halls and the lack of plant life.

Passing by thick marble pillars laced with rubies and amethysts standing in rows along the walls with scores of lanterns that hung between them. She took in the gold tracery that gleamed from the pillars' bases like molten thread and arching over the ceiling were carved raven heads, their beaks open in mid-screech. They approached the end of the hallway where two colossal black doors towered, accented by shimmering silver lines that depicted a seven-pointed crown that spanned both sides.

At their approach the doors swung outwards to reveal a massive volcanic crater. Its walls narrowed to a small ragged opening so high above that Arya could not judge the distance—it might have been more than a dozen miles. A soft beam of light fell through the aperture, illuminating the crater's center, though it left the rest of the cavernous expanse in hushed twilight.

The crater's far side, hazy blue in the distance, looked to be nearly ten miles away. Giant icicles hundreds of feet thick and thousands of feet long hung leagues above them like glistening daggers. Farther down the crater's inner walls, dark mats of moss and lichen covered the rock.

She lowered her gaze and saw a wide cobblestone path extending from the doors' threshold. The path ran straight to the center of the crater, where it ended at the base of a snowy-white mountain that glittered like an uncut gem with thousands of colored lights. It was less than a tenth of the height of the crater that loomed over and around it, but its diminutive appearance was deceiving, for it was slightly higher than a mile.

_The City of Tronjheim. _

It was odd and yet deeply profound as she stared down at the fine white marble city. What had once been a mere image created by Eragon's stories was now standing before her, proud and ancient. After nearly two decades, she was finally seeing it for herself, the beautiful city of Tronjheim. Careful to remain behind Weldon and the others, she could not help but allow her eyes to wander before they eventually met the eyes of the person beside her.

Eragon was watching her with a slight smile on his face, his brown eyes sparkling as if he understood what it was that was going on through her mind. When their eyes met, his smile widened just slightly and she was struck by how boyish his expression appeared to her. He had always looked so calm and collected that it stood out to her. But it was not awkward nor unwelcomed and yet the way he was gazing at her, it was as if he had always been smiling at her. Why did it feel so familiar?

Unbidden by her, she felt her a slight smile stretch across her own lips to show her own joy at finally being able to see the sights outside of Ellesméra.

_The person to behold all of these sights will become the freest person in the world._

She had taken one step towards the freedom that laid outside of Ellesméra and the feeling it brought to her was so great that it was hard to give it description. As she held his gaze, she saw his left hand twitch as if he wanted to instinctively take hold of something. Her eyes flickered to his hand pausing on the ruby ring that he wore, the black etching in the jewel standing out against the red. It was the symbol of the yawë.

It did not take long for her earlier pleasure at the sight of Farthen Dûr and Tronjheim to slip away before it was replaced by pain as the memories of her departure from Ellesméra came back to her.

Her left shoulder ached with the pain of the indigo tattoo that was etched onto her left shoulder but she did not do anything to heal her shoulder. It was customary to let the skin heal itself to serve as a lingering reminder of the great obligation that she had undertaken. Shifting her bow and quiver on her back, she winced slightly as the skin on her left shoulder burned, the stinging pain erupting through her entire back.

"Does it hurt much?"

Turning, Arya blinked at the sight of her father making his way towards her holding a shiny sword in one hand. He was not being followed by the other elf lords and ladies and neither was he accompanied by his mate. Her heart clenched as she thought of her mother's absence.

"Father," she said glad that he had come to see her off despite her mother's proclamation a week earlier when she had gone to them to inform them of her decision. What ensued between mother and daughter was a battle of wills. However, she had not thought her mother would have gone as far as to exile her from her presence. Be that as it may, this was her decision and she was not going to let anyone else tell her otherwise. A decade of contemplation had been enough. She did not want to waste any more time.

"How is your left shoulder feeling?" asked Evandar as his eyes darted to her left shoulder with a slight frown.

"It still stings from the pain of the tattoo but it shall wear away eventually with time," said Arya. She floundered on the spot for a moment before she spoke once more. "Is mother…?"

Seeing her hesitancy, her father merely smiled at her sadly. "There is a source of your stubbornness Arya," he said softly. She nodded feeling her throat constrict. Her mother truly was not going to see her off. Swallowing the deep hurt that erupted in her heart, she nodded.

"Will she not be angered at you for seeing me off?" asked Arya.

Her father merely chuckled. "I believe I know how to handle myself well around an angry mate," said Evandar before his gray eyes grew soft. "In any case, what father will allow his princess to leave his protection for the first time in her life without wishing her luck? Certainly not me."

"Father…" She was at a loss for words as she stared at her kind father. And not for the first time in her life, a sense of pride filled her at the thought of being his daughter.

"It will be a dangerous journey Arya and you have declined the company of guards that I had offered you," said Evandar with a slight frown as he thought of her stubbornness. Arya fought the urge to feel chastised by her father. It was not that she was overconfident in her abilities that she did not need guards outside of Du Weldenvarden, it was just the fact that she wanted to see the world on her own.

"I shall be fine," Arya reassured him.

Evandar merely stared at her for a long moment before he nodded. Then he held up the slim sword in his hand to her. She stared at the blade. "It is one of the most ancient blades in our history, Arya. There are wards casted about the metal so that it would ensure you ease in battle when wielding it."

Astonishment coursed through her at being presented such a gift from her father. Surely, he could have done with a regular blade. When she made to protest, his expression immediately became stern. "You will be embarking on a dangerous journey and though you denied my offer to have guards sent with you at least take this sword so that you may be better protected."

Hesitating for a moment longer, she nodded and reached out to take the sword letting herself become acquainted to the light weight of the weapon. Then she slipped the sword into her belt on her right hip seeing as she fought with her left hand. "Thank you father," said Arya sincerely. "I shall wield it well."

"As I know you will," he said gently before reaching out with a hand to caress her face. She blinked at the gesture of affection. It was not that she was foreign to her parents' love and care, it only served to reinforce the fact that her parents were no longer going to be a great part of her life from this point on. She blinked rapidly as she held her father's gaze. "Be safe Arya."

"I promise you."

He smiled at her before with his strong arms swept her up in an embrace. Reminded of her childhood days, she returned his embrace as she swore to herself then that she would leave and come back to Ellesméra to make her father proud…even if her mother denied her actions and had exiled her as a result of them. She leaned her head against her father's shoulder and blinked when the stinging pang from her left shoulder erupted through her back once more. This time, however, she ignored it.

She sighed as she stared about the spacious living quarters that the dwarves had given to her. It was located in a hidden hallway that she had overlooked and only when Orik had pointed it out to her did she take notice of the hallway. The only other inhabitant it appeared that shared the hallway was Eragon as she was informed by Orik.

_Eragon…_

He had not said much to her during their short time together after a near decade of not seeing one another. Yet, that was to be expected for they were surrounded by prying eyes and ears. He was different and yet he was still the same. It was difficult to explain even to herself but as she sat beside him in the spacious rectangular room in which only a long, rectangular marble table occupied she could not help but think of what it was that had happened to him over the ten years he had spent serving the Varden. There was a serious air about him and he was quick to take the wind out of the sails of the Council of Elders and yet whenever his gaze landed on her, there was a sense of relief in his eyes that pulled at her.

Why was that?

Taking a seat on a cushioned couch in her living room, she glanced about. Having already unpacked her things into her new chambers, there was nothing left for her to do and though she wanted to see Tronjheim more, she dared not overstep her bounds by wandering freely as of yet. Content to just letting the knowledge of being in Tronjheim be enough to satisfy her curiosity for the day, she was about to take to her texts that she had brought along with her before a knock on her door drew her attention.

Curious as to who it was, she stood and went to answer her door to find a short curly haired woman standing before her. "Ah, so you are the new elven ambassador," she said with a smile, her eyes gleaming as she gazed up at Arya. "My, my, you are quite different from the resident elf that has come to reside within the Varden."

"And who might you be?" asked Arya curiously, wondering where such a person had found such courage to speak so comfortably about Eragon.

"You may call me Angela," she introduced herself amiably. Struck by how at ease Angela was in her presence, she merely gazed at the woman as she began to chatter about. Eventually, she caught herself and tossed Arya an apologetic look. "Where are my manners? May I inquire as to who you are?"

"Arya," she inclined her head to Angela.

"I see," Angela nodded to herself thoughtfully. Her eyes took Arya in from head to toe making her feel like a specimen being examined before she spoke. "I would say that Eragon does not make for a very good impression of an elf when being compared to you."

"What is it that you mean?" asked Arya with a raised brow.

"Oh, well, he's very…how should I say this?" she pondered for a moment. "Let us say that he—"

"Angela," the two of them turned to find Eragon strolling towards them with a slight frown on his face. "When Weldon said that we needed to be courteous to the new elven ambassador, he meant you as well. However loosely related you are to the Varden, I believe harassment of any sort to our ambassador would not sit well with Weldon."

"It appears as if the saying killjoy is a fit description for him," said Angela with a grin. "In any case, I have come to see what I wanted. I shall no doubt see you about, Arya." With that said she left in the opposite direction.

Stopping before her open door, Eragon was staring after Angela's back with a slightly amused expression before he shook his head. "Were you resting Arya?" He turned to her, his voice ringing deep chords of memories within her.

"No," she shook her head before remembering something. "There is a missive that King Evandar has asked that I give you." Leaving his side for a moment, she returned a minute later with a scroll in her hand tied shut by an emerald ribbon. Arya handed it to him.

"I shall make sure to read over it," he said tucking the missive away. He paused and then continued. "It is good to see that you are well Arya."

"You as well," she spared him a smile before her expression grew serious. "I have a favor to ask of you Eragon."

"If it is within my power, I shall see to it if I can help you."

"Will you keep my title a secret? I do not wish for it to become common knowledge here," said Arya softly.

He nodded, his expression solemn. "Of course, if that is what you wish." She nodded and a comfortable silence fell over them before Eragon spoke once more. "Were you planning on resting anytime soon?"

She shook her head watching as a side of his lips curved upwards.

"If you are not too busy then perhaps I can show you Tronjheim. I doubt you were able to see much earlier," said Eragon and like that, the small part of her heart which had grown attached to his stories thrummed with warmth.

"I would like to see it," said Arya softly watching as he smiled down at her as if expecting her answer to be so. As they walked side by side each other with Eragon telling her about the wonders of Tronjheim, a sense of freedom came to her once more as well as a strange sense of familiarity—almost as if she had done this before but from a forgotten time. Eyes darting to Eragon, she took in his appearance and could not help but relax as she listened to his stories over the past decade.

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**For those who have read RL and enjoyed the characterization of Arya in that story, the Arya in this story will slowly shift into that character once more but perhaps not as similar but still with the same personality. And if this Arya seems off just remember that she's OC for a bit and she's still seventy years younger than the Arya we've all come to know. Not to mention with Eragon changing the timeline, things are bound to be different. In any case, Arya and Eragon are reunited and we even got to see Fäolin a little bit in this chapter but...his relationship to Arya has yet to be clearly explained. In any case I hope to see you all soon! **


	15. Chapter 15

**Well, there wasn't really much to say apart from one thing really. There have been questions concerining Arya, Eragon, and Fäolin . And I shall say this like I did in the last note some chapters back, this story is definitely ExA. But it's not going to be a smooth ride. Like one reviewer said, Eragon is going to have to work to get Arya. In RL, she just sort of came to him and in this story that won't be the case for Eragon. Just putting that thought out there. In any case enjoy the chapter everyone, R&R. **

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Running alongside Arya, Eragon glanced back at the startled and awed faces of the rest of their company. In the past decade, he had never truly showed anyone else his speed apart from the encounter with Darius but now with Arya serving once more as her father's ambassador there was no need to ride a steed that he could easily overcome in speed. Though he could not entirely account the men's expressions to be based only on him. If anything, it appeared as if Arya was the one causing the stir amongst the soldiers. They were not used to seeing a well-endowed female in appearance, knowledge, magic, and strength. And though it had been nine months since her arrival, her presence was still enough to stop those in their work so that they could admire her, men and women alike.

The last nine months with Arya had been enough. Though he was busy with training the younger members of Du Gata Vrangr and the soldiers as well as accomplishing tasks set forth by Weldon, he had always managed to see her, even if it was a mere glimpse, at least once a day to remind himself that she was there. His task was only made easier with the fact that she lived in the quarters directly across from him. He felt himself smile slightly as his eyes darted to Arya as she ran beside him, not breaking in stride nor showing any signs of tiring. His mind wandered back to the missive that she had given him when she'd first arrive.

While King Evandar had spoken to Eragon as a close friend, he had also asked Eragon to see to Arya's wellbeing since she was now alone in a new environment. It would have no doubt irritated Arya to be watched over but he made sure to do so and maintain his distance as well so that she would not become overly suspicious about his intentions.

Arya, Eragon observed, was very different amongst the Varden and yet he saw similar characteristics to when she was part of the Varden in his time. She kept her distance from others but she was most certainly not aloof. There was a sense of innocence to her that had yet to be washed away by the stains of blood. _If my memories serve me correctly, _thought Eragon as his eyes narrowed as he stared forward, _this would be around the time when she would take her first life. _

"Sir!" one of their runners on horseback came forward from the left flank, keeping pace with Weldon on his charger. "A band of Urgals have been spotted making their way here!"

"Urgals?" From where he was running beside Arya, he could see the trouble look on Weldon's face as he took in the information.

It was Irvine who spoke next as he rode on his stallion to Weldon's right. "My lord, we must keep going. If we leave be they may decide that we are not worth the effort and I believe that our forces are much too large for a band of Urgals to challenge even if they are creatures of great strength."

Weldon nodded turning back to the runner. "Relay my orders to the rest of the company. Tell them that we shall not stop unless we are forced to." With that said, the soldier pulled on the reins of his horse before turning about to yell the order to the soldiers marching. Eragon's frown deepened. He knew well enough that the Urgals were not going to submit. Truth be told, he had not given the Urgals much consideration. He had thought about seeking them out but the timing would be too soon. There was no common force that was uniting them. A desire to see to the end of Galbatorix was not enough to bring all the races together. They needed a symbol.

They needed a Dragon Rider.

_The eggs…_He could find the tunnel to steal them from Galbatorix but then it would be still too early to do so. If they were in possession of the eggs for too long and they did not hatch, it would only serve to dishearten the Varden and cause even more tension. He would have to plan it correctly for it to work but just as he was thinking of a suitable solution to go about the eggs, he heard a horn go off to alert them of the coming danger.

Immediately Weldon signaled for them to stop and they did so turning to their left to spot a sizable band of Urgals traveling towards them, their heads bowed and their horns bared at them. It was almost too much to ask for a peaceful journey to Surda thought Eragon as he reached for his swords. Unsheathing them with ease, he turned to find Arya watching the group of Urgals with a slight expression of hesitancy in her eyes. Staring at her, a great part of him wanted to protect her from the fighting. His hands tightened on the pommel of his swords as he shook his head to himself. Arya could take care of herself. Treating her as a damsel in distress would only serve to anger her.

Turning away from her, he turned his sights to the band of Urgals making their way towards them. They did not relent in their run as war cries were uttered from them. Seeing this Weldon turned, lifting his sword skyward as he pointed it to the Urgals. A second passed before the sky was filled with arrows. He watched as the barrage of arrows flew through the sky seemingly suspended by time before they arched downwards with great speed, plucking off the Urgals who had not moved to guard themselves.

A second barrage of arrows was released before the first Urgal came too close to be effectively stopped by arrows. Instead, Weldon turned to Eragon and nodded his head. "Those under Eragon's command engage the enemy! Everyone else move back and protect the carts!"

Arya, who had always been one to decide for herself, turned to Eragon with a fierce expression. "I shall be fighting as well."

He nodded grimly and without another words signaled for his men to move forward. Though there were those who rode on horseback, Eragon was the quickest of them with Arya falling not short behind. Lifting up Brisingr to arch his sword behind his back, he made his way to the center. Shifting Vrangr in his hand, he held his sword up straight against his body. Easily sliding past the first Urgal, he waited and then bending his knees jumped forward, his swords moving with his body as he sailed through the air, spinning at a great speed.

Within the blink of an eye, he had fell seven Urgals faster than anyone could possibly keep track of. Grimacing at the blood that stained his clothes, he glanced at Vrangr as his sword pulsed a deadly violet. Readying his swords once more, he leapt forward towards the heart of the fray and using his speed and strength, he swiftly cut his opponents down faster than anyone could hope to compare to.

The fighting took no longer than a few minutes and when it was done, Eragon had taken a quick count of his men and was satisfied to see that they were all still alive apart from a few scrapes and bruises. Sheathing his blades, he tugged his cloak into place about his shoulders frowning at the blood that soaked the fabric. Contemplating for a few seconds, he reached up and ripped his cloak off tossing the soiled material to the side. There was no use in wearing that anymore.

"Return to your positions!" Eragon called to the soldiers who had engaged in the fighting, all of which were primarily from their left flank. The sound of sheathing swords and shifting shields met his ears before they did as they were ordered and fell back into formation.

Moving to follow them, he paused as he caught sight of Arya. She was unharmed but there was blood that lined her forearms, evidence of the fighting that she was involved in moments earlier. Frowning to himself, he continued on his way falling back into position on Weldon's left. A few seconds passed before Arya came up beside him, her expression appearing the slightest bit troubled. Knowing what it was that was passing through her mind, he could only offer her his presence as a source of comfort.

It did not take long for them to continue with their formation after the brief skirmish with the Urgals. While Eragon had no qualms about killing, he could tell that Arya was greatly distracted by the thought. Though she had kept her expression indifferent during their march, he could tell from the way her brows furrowed slightly that she was troubled. _What was she thinking? _He wanted to ask her but a part of him didn't want to push her for her thoughts.

Frowning, he turned to face the front as they pushed on towards Surda.

"What does she mean?" muttered Eragon as he stared at the list that Angela had given him that night. She had insisted or rather _demanded _that since he was on his way to Surda with Weldon that the least he could do was gather the necessary items that she required for some sort of _experimentation _that she wanted to carry out.

He stared at the list that she had written for him once more not even sure if half of the items that she had written down was even purchasable in Surda. Frowning intently, Eragon shook his head. _If this is a joke on Angela's part, _he thought to himself darkly. It would not be far off to think if the witch had deliberately written down false items to make his head hurt. As he was contemplating where he sat before the camp fire that he had built before his tent, he blinked when he heard the soft sound of boots.

"May I join you?"

He glanced up recognizing the voice anywhere. Arya stood off to the side, hesitantly. Blinking in surprise, Eragon nodded. This was the first time that he and Arya had traveled together since he had joined the Varden. Unsure of how to act, he merely sat there forgetting about the piece of parchment that he held in his hand.

In his peripheral vision, he saw Arya take a seat not far from him, her legs pulled up, with her arms wrapped around them and her chin resting on her knees. For a moment, he was struck with a memory of how once before she had sat like so before him. The two of them sat there, letting the fire crackle away as the sounds of the camp drifted over towards them. As always during any sort of excursion, he'd set up tent away from the main body of the camp for a moment of reprieve away from prying eyes. Knowing that he was alone with Arya made it all the harder to focus his thoughts.

"What is that parchment you are holding?" asked Arya, her green eyes studying the object in his hands.

"It is a list that Angela has given me," he turned the parchment about to show her the messy scrawls. "She'd asked that I retrieve the items she has written." Turning it about in his hand once more, he took one last glance at the list before folding the parchment and tucking it away. Instead, he merely stared at the fire with a pensive expression waiting to see if Arya had a purpose to coming to him so late at night.

Eventually his patience was rewarded when he heard her shift, her quiet voice carrying through the quiet night air. "Does it bother you when you kill?"

He lifted his head and turned to stare at her. Despite her placid exterior, he saw a shine of desperation in her emerald eyes and knew that she was bothered by what she had done today. He had not seen her fighting for he had been to enrapt in his own fighting with the Urgals but her question and her mood after the fighting was enough to tell him that she had taken her first life. Remembering how alone she had been in his time, he felt his resolve harden. He would not let Arya be burdened even if it was by her own sorrows and troubles. It was the least he could do for her after everything she had done for him in his future.

"I would be lying if I said it did," said Eragon watching as bewilderment clouded Arya's eyes at his words. He thought for a long moment, reaching down to pluck at the blades of grass beneath his fingers. "Or rather, perhaps I do not know any more if killing does bother me. I have killed for some time now, Arya. Long before I came to reside in Ellesméra…" He paused trying to find words to explain to her what he thought of killing. He was being truthful when he said that killing did not bother him much. Or perhaps, he had long accepted the fact that he would always be a killer and to dwell over every life he'd taken would only serve to be his undoing. "The first time I had taken a life, I was much younger than you Arya…I was barely three years past my first decade—no older than a child."

"What happened?" she seemed hesitant to ask but he could tell that she was entranced by his story and if it was enough to keep her thoughts from turning dark, he would not deny her.

Picking up the blades of grass that he had plucked from the earth, he straightened slightly where he sat and began to twist the blades about his fingers. "When I was younger," he began trying to find ways to tell her about his tortures without giving away too much information. "I was imprisoned by a group of magicians and after a year of _enduring _their tortures, a part of me snapped. In my rage, I killed them." His fingers stopped for a moment, eyes narrowing as he tried to think of what more to say.

"It bothered me then," said Eragon eventually speaking where he had left off. "What was life? What was its value? Certainly, it should be priceless and yet, I'd stolen it from several people. I thought I would go mad with thought that I had committed a violation against nature. It didn't take long for me to realize though that if I had not fought then I would have been the one to die…" He stopped once more trying to collect his thoughts. He did not want to appear as an apathetic person who was both cruel and cold hearted to Arya but neither did he want to give her a false façade of who he really was.

Stilling his hands, he turned to stare at Arya. His heart pounded when his eyes met hers. "This world is merciless, Arya," he thought of the constant struggles between the weak and the strong, the oppressed and the oppressors, and the looming knowledge that death was not inevitable. "And yet, it is very beautiful." In his mind, he saw Saphira, Arya, his family, and so much more. "We can only look at it whichever way we want to. I made my decision long ago that I would look towards the more beautiful side of life."

"What happened today would have happened regardless of our intentions," brows creasing slightly, he returned to the blades of glass in his hands. "The Urgals insisted on trying to win honor and glory to better their standings within their tribes and though we had wanted to pass them, they came to us. The better question is if what you did was justified…the answer, however, is only found within each individual…"

"I see," Arya murmured deep in thought, her arms tightening around her legs.

"Breathing helps too," added Eragon softly. Her eyes flickered to him and away and he watched as she took in a deep breath trying to still her mind of what it was that was afflicting her.

Letting Arya try to ease her mind, he turned to the half-finished object in his hand. With ease, he continued to twine the blades of grass about each other. When he was done, he lifted his hand up slightly and with a soft murmur of "Flauga," watched as the small dragon made of grass blades take flight.

He watched as the dragon flew about the fire before gliding towards Arya. She lifted her hand and the grass dragon circled her fingers in a loop three times before it veered off into the darkness, flying wherever there were plants so that it could keep itself afloat. She stared at it for a long moment. Then as if realizing where it was that she was sitting, Arya turned back to glance at him with a slight tilt of her chin and an unreadable expression.

"Thank you."

Eragon merely smiled at her and they continued to sit there together not speaking but merely taking comfort in each other's presence. And Eragon continued to sit there, long until after Arya had left. He was content to merely staring at the fire until he felt a strangeness to the air. Frowning at the odd feeling he was getting, he rose to his feet. The camp appeared fine and without any signs of panic but there was something more that bothered him. Unsheathing Brisingr, he made his way towards the valley not far off.

He had barely taken two steps before he heard the rustle of bushes to his right, immediately Eragon whirled about Brisingr ready in his hands.

"Stop!"

Blinking at the sound of the familiar rough voice, he waited for the person to pull themselves free of the bush and was promptly surprised to find himself facing Brom but older than he had last seen him. Now he was in his early fifth decade and his brown hair was starting to show signs of gray. His face which had been young the last time Eragon had set sights on him was now beginning to show lines. It was a shock to see his father once more and his mind could not help but try and compare the different appearances of Brom all at once as it tried to find a common face to match with the name.

"Brom?" not releasing his hold on Brisingr, he lowered his sword slightly as his father broke free of the bush.

"I am glad you did not see fit to cleave me in twain before you made such a realization," Brom said drily causing Eragon to bristle on the spot.

"Have you come to be insulting?" asked Eragon with narrowed eyes as he watched Brom dust himself off to rid the dirt that clung to his clothes which were worn from traveling. He took a moment to take in his father's appearance. He wore traveling clothes that were dark allowing him to easily blend into the night if he wished to and a sword hung at his left hip.

"I had thought that after all the time you have spent amongst the Varden you would become more welcome to blunt mannerism," said Brom his sapphire eyes as sharp as they were when Eragon had first met him.

"Why are you here?" asked Eragon ignoring Brom's remark. "I had thought you were busying yourself with trying to do away with the Forsworn. Last I heard about you was that you had managed to kill Sasha and her dragon."

Recently he had heard word from Weldon that Brom had managed to kill the Forsworn for he had effectively managed to corner her without any form of escape and had somehow managed to slip past her wards to kill her, therefore ending both her life and her dragon's. What bothered Eragon was how Brom made no mentions of the Eldunarí.

_Unless Galbatorix is not letting the Forsworn use the Eldunarí of their own volition, _thought Eragon. It was a thought to be contended with for Galbatorix in all of his paranoia would not give his means of power to others if that could possibly mean him being overwhelmed.

"I did but that does not mean that it is finished and done with," said Brom gruffly. "Her mate has come for vengeance."

"Mate?" asked Eragon surprised. He had not known that two of the Forsworn were mates.

"An elf by the name of Aegnor," said Brom. The way he said it and his expression did not bode well thought Eragon as he studied Brom. He took a look at his travel worn clothing and his sweaty face and narrowed sapphire eyes. It appeared as if he was running. Brows furrowed, Eragon could not help but feel a slight sense of apprehension wash over him as he asked his next question.

"Are you being pursued?"

A loud bellow was the answer to his question. Instantly the entire camp was alerted to the presence of the dragon. Sparing Brom a look, he glanced up as the lanterns about the camp flared to life and the soldiers hurriedly woke and those that were patrolling instantly had their swords drawn.

"You had thought the best solution was to bring him here?" asked Eragon with a raised brow as he questioned his father's thoughts. Brom did not speak but rather he turned his head skyward to stare at the large figure that was beginning to descend on their camp. Lifting his head to stare in the same direction, he thought for a moment of what Brom had just told him. This Aegnor was coming for revenge due to his mate's death and for a moment he could sympathize with him. If something were to ever happen to Arya, he would abandon all thought and blindly race after the cause of her death and avenge her. But this was a Forsworn.

_Could they love? _

It was a curious question. He did not think the Forsworn were capable of love and for a moment he wondered about his mother and Morzan. Though he knew that his mother loved Morzan blindly at first, he wanted to know whether or not Morzan had returned her affections. Did he love her at one point in his time or had he only lusted for her? The thought of Morzan treating his mother as a mere tool made his blood boil.

"Eragon," he blinked turning to find Brom gripping his arm. "I need your help in order to defeat Aegnor and his dragon."

"What is it?" asked Eragon with a frown as the cries of the soldiers grew louder. Above them the night sky was suddenly illuminated by a torrent of flames tinged silver and in the split second in which the flames raced across the night sky, he caught sight of the dragon. The dragon was far larger than Saphira but not enough to outdo Glaedr and Shruikan but even then it was still a formidable foe.

"I shall distract Aegnor. When you see an opening take it," said Brom with hard eyes.

"And how do you plan on distracting Aegnor?" asked Eragon with a frown.

"Love can be blind, even to the sense of danger," said Brom and with that said, he turned and began to move away from the camp yelling a string of curses at Aegnor. Eragon blinked standing there for a moment before his feet propelled him into action. There was no time to wait. He had already let his chance of killing Darius pass nearly four years earlier and now that a Forsworn had come to them in a blind rage, he would not let another opportunity pass.

Entering the camp, he saw that Weldon was standing by his command tent giving orders and Arya was beside him. Instantly, he made to Weldon's side. "Weldon," Eragon called running up to him. The leader of the Varden turned his head to face Eragon, relief spreading across his face.

"Eragon, good you are here," said Weldon with a nod, "We—"

"Do not attack, leave this to me," said Eragon cutting Weldon off before he could speak.

"That is sheer madness," Weldon shook his head. "You are strong Eragon but to ask only you to fight against a dragon and its Rider is too much. No, I am sending the soldiers out to fight."

"They are too weak," Eragon argued frowning. "I am not saying this out of discrimination nor prejudice but a human soldier can do little against a Forsworn. If you send your men in now, you are sending them to their deaths as if you have killed them yourself."

He could see the slight hesitation in Weldon's eyes but he knew the thoughts of pointless deaths did not sit well with the leader of the Varden. Knowing that he only needed a few more words to persuade Weldon Eragon continued. "Brom is here and he has a strategy devised. Leave the Forsworn to the two of us and instead focus on strengthening our camp, we do not know if any reinforcements were brought."

At the mention of Brom, Weldon appeared to ease up but it was Irvine who was the deciding factor. "I say we trust in Eragon's judgment. He has yet to do us wrong and he may understand how to fight a Forsworn better than anyone else."

"Very well," nodded Weldon though he was still frowning at the idea. "See to it that you return victorious Eragon."

He nodded and turned to leave, catching sight of Arya's worried emerald eyes. Then without a second glance back, he began to sprint through the camp and towards the direction Brom had taken off in with Aegnor in pursuit.

_Why is it different this time? _

During the time they had spent together, however short it was, Arya had told him much of her past life and she had never told him of an encounter with the Forsworn. Yet, it was happening and there was no explanation for it apart from the fact that his presence had somehow managed to trigger a change in events.

_Brom better not have gotten himself killed. _

If his father died in the fighting then his entire existence would be a mere thing of the past. Scowling at the thought, he hurried forward as the sound of the fighting floated over to him. Turning about, he ran into a clearing that was surrounded by the mountains on the opposite side. Running about and dodging torrents of flames and orbs of silver magic was Brom and he was yelling incessantly at Aegnor.

"Did you even love her? How could you love anyone but yourself? Admit it, you did not love her. You just love the power she gave you!"

He heard a ferocious snarl as he neared before another flash of light illuminated the clearing. Blinking against the bright light Eragon made to move forward but stopped when he heard a loud bellow and bearing down on him from above was a silver scaled dragon. Lunging out of the way as the great body landed on the ground sending tremors through the earth, Eragon blinked momentarily having forgotten about the dragon.

Moving his feet backwards, he reached up with his left hand to pull Vrangr free of its sheath. Holding his swords out before him, he blinked trying to approximate the space he had to maneuver about the dragon. While Aegnor was busy trying to wipe Brom's existence from Alagaësia, he had let his dragon defenseless. And while it was still a dragon, its mind was primitive as that of any other beast and that was where Eragon had the advantage.

Running forward, he easily dodged a swipe by the silver dragon's paws. Since they were on land, Eragon had the upper advantage when it came to fighting. Blades flashing, he continued to sprint about the dragon and while he was trying his best to keep up with Eragon, he left his right flank open. Seeing an opportunity for him, Eragon grimaced as his hold on Brisingr tightened.

Letting his speed carry him about the dragon's large body, he bent his knees leaning to his right side to allow his feet to slide against the grass. Holding Brisingr out, he arched his sword inwards and with a clean swipe sunk his blade into flesh.

Blinking rapidly as a spray of sizzling blood coated his right side, he continued until Brisingr cleanly sliced the right foreleg cleanly off causing the dragon to hollow in pain. Unable to block in time, a large tail came out and caught him in the midsection sending him flying backwards. Though his wards protected him from the brunt of the blow, the ache that it left behind was enough to daze him. Coughing against the sudden loss of breath, he rolled to his feet to see the dragon limping as he bellowed in agony.

There was a slight flurry of movement as his large wings began to spread outwards showing signs that he was about to take flight. _I won't let you escape! _Without a second thought, he darted forward sheathing Vrangr and Brisingr as he did so. And just as the dragon pushed off from the ground Eragon leapt into the air and managed to grab a hold of his left foreleg as he took flight. Squinting against the rushing wind, he grunted when the dragon did an intricate flip in the air nearly throwing him off. Refusing to lose his grip, he tightened his hold around the foreleg and when he was confident enough, he began to climb his way upward. A combination of the rushing wind as well as the movement of the dragon was nearly enough to send him flying off.

What the dragon forgot, however, was that Eragon was also a Rider and he understood how to fly atop a dragon's back even if it was struggling. Grabbing a spike, he began the slow process of pulling himself up to the saddle. The silver dragon suddenly took a left dip to the side nearly impaling him on one of its spikes.

Using his feet against the side of its body for balance, he gritted his teeth before he resumed his climb once more and eventually after much struggle he climbed onto the saddle. The daunting task had yet to come. Heaving in a deep breath, Eragon inched forward his heart pounding as he thought of what it was that he was going to do. Careful to remain atop of the dragon, he slowly inched forward drawing Brisingr from its sheath and when he was close enough to stab through the neck, the world suddenly tipped as they were dipped forward.

Nearly flying from his seated position, he hurriedly grabbed onto a spike with his free hand as the dragon began to dive towards the ground trying to use his speed and momentum to throw Eragon off. Hanging from the spike, his body propelled upwards from the gust of wind, he winced at the pain that went through his left shoulder and when it became too much to bear, he simply let go. Immediately he began to fall past the silver dragon and the moment he reached his head, Eragon twisted, Brisingr flashing in night followed by a wet squelch and a tremendous bellow filled with such agony that it was enough to give time pause.

_I'm sorry, _thought Eragon pulling Brisingr free of the skull. Fanning his arms and legs out beside him to keep from falling too rapidly, he turned as the motionless body of the silver dragon tumbled through the air, his wings no longer keeping him up.

A dull booming thud sounded through the vicinity as the large body collided with the earth, lifeless. A few seconds later, he would have been crushed by his fall but with the use of magic he was able to gently land onto the ground and the moment he did, he brought Brisingr up to parry a fatal blow to the head.

Before him standing in the dim light that the crescent moon casted down on them was a male elf, his face contorted in pain and pure rage as he beheld Eragon. Tears filled his eyes but Eragon was unmoved. "You chose this," said Eragon as he batted away Aegnor's sword. "Had you not decided to follow Galbatorix, you could have still had a dragon and a mate to love and cherish."

Words seemed beyond Aegnor for the elf blindly rushed at him yelling with his voice filled with emotion. Not having to draw Vrangr from its sheath, he easily sidestepped and parried another blow that Aegnor delivered to him and bringing up his left leg, slammed his leg into the elf's stomach sending him flying backwards his sword falling from his grip.

Aegnor's grief and rage made it easy for him to see an opening thought Eragon as he followed the elf who easily flipped about in the air to land on his feet skidding a few paces. Not allowing him to regain his lost weapon, he started forward and dodging a ball of pulsing silver energy flourished Brisingr in his hand.

Breaking through Aegnor's wards, Brisingr sliced through the center of the elf's chest and broke free on the other side.

There was a grunt of pain from Aegnor who was fighting to retain what little life he had left in him. His hand holding Brisingr tightened. Eragon waited. He heard a gurgled sound coming from Aegnor before a soft voice spoke in the ancient language. "I suppose this is my…atonement…"

His body sagged and fell backwards off of Brisingr, hitting the ground softly. Heart still racing from the suddenness of everything, Eragon blinked as he stared at the dark outline of Aegnor at his feet. Had he done it? Had he really killed Aegnor and his dragon? It seemed too quick. It seemed too impossible. But Brom had known—had known that Aegnor in his grief would be an easy target to pluck off and he was right.

Taking a moment to gather his wits, he opened is right palm. "Naina," a sapphire werelight came into existence in his palm. The sight that greeted him was chaos incarnate. It was as if someone had decided to take red paint and splatter it about what used to be a green clearing. Keeping his werelight aloft in the air, he took a glance down at Aegnor.

The fair elf appeared to be as if he was asleep but there was no rise or fall of his chest that was evident of sleep. Staring at the Forsworn for a moment longer, he turned and began to make his way to the motionless silver dragon. Moving about the body, he came to a stop by the saddlebag and after ripping it apart he blinked. There was no Eldunarí.

Frowning to himself, he threw the leather aside. What was Galbatorix thinking? Did he even give his Forsworn the Eldunarí or perhaps he kept the souls to himself? Sheathing Brisingr, he turning wincing when his hand landed on dragon blood, the crimson liquid burning his flesh.

Now to find Brom. Moving through the blood soaked clearing, he turned at the sound of a groan and saw his father stirring on the ground. There was a gash on the side of his head but apart from that he appeared whole.

"Still alive?" asked Eragon wryly as he gazed down at Brom.

The man blinked four times before his blue eyes came into focus, sweeping about the clearing. A pained expression came onto his face at the sight of the motionless dragon but he said nothing more as he made his way to his feet.

"More or less," with a groan he straightened rolling his shoulders as he did so.

"You never answered my question," said Eragon as he observed Brom. "Why did you bring Aegnor to the Varden?"

"Simple, you were here," said Brom as he bent down to retrieve his sword. "It would be easier to dispatch of a Forsworn with another Rider. Even though we do not have our dragons, we are still Riders."

_So that was why…_

Not saying anything, he turned away from Brom to take a look at the scene once more and deep in his heart he felt a dull pain in chest at what he had done. Feeling his hands sting, he lifted them to see the skin drenched in blood.

_Once a murderer always a murderer._

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**I have been feeling a write's muse for some reason. I don't know but lately when I write, I just seem to trail off lost in thought. Hopefully this doesn't turn into a writer's block of some sort (those of you who read RL know how bad my writer's blocks are :p) In any case, I shall continued diligently writing this story. But back to this chapter. There will be some Forsworn that I barely mention and then there shall be some that her more ingrained into the story (i.e. Morzan, Formora, Darius, etc). Everyone is just going to have to wait to see what happens. I'm going to try to make the time jumps less frequent (we have about seventy years left to write) every now and then so that I could work on characterization. But apart from that I hope to see you all soon. **


	16. Chapter 16

**So here's another chapter done and it's more of a filler to the last chapter. There wasn't really anything that stood out to me in the reviews that I wanted to clear up so I believe that all of you guys can go ahead and enjoy the chapter! And keep a watch out for some references to RL! R&R! **

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"Nothing can be done about the body," said Weldon as he observed the bloody scene before them with a frown. When Eragon had thought the scene appeared gruesome with his werelight, it was nothing compared to the distorted vision he saw before him as he took in the sight of the silver dragon's body as well as Aegnor beneath the morning sunlight. "It is simply too large to move."

"Someone will find the body and word of his death will spread like fire throughout the Empire," said Irvine as he tentatively stepped about the silver dragon's large tail.

"Which is what we are aiming to accomplish," said Brom turning to face Weldon. "It'll show the people of the Empire that the Varden is not a force to be taken lightly. If anything it would incite others who are tired of Galbatorix's despondent rule to come join us."

Not paying much attention to them, Eragon began to make his way about the body of the dragon towards where Aegnor laid. Arya stood over the elf, staring down at him with an unreadable expression and for a moment Eragon wanted to reach out to see what it was that was going on through her mind. Instead, he turned away from her and searched the ground until his eyes landed on the object that he sought. Lying in the grass was a silver blade. He reached down to pick it up glancing at the glyph that was on the blade. _Shadows. _

"Sundavar," Eragon murmured turning the blade in his hand to study the light that gleamed off of it. Staring at the beautiful silver blade for a moment longer, he shook his head and turned to make his way over to where Aegnor laid. Arya was still standing over him, her emerald eyes appearing troubled. Stopping opposite her, he bent down and slid the scabbard of the sword from Aegnor's waist, sheathing Sundavar.

Straightening, he turned his eyes on Arya. "Does something bother you?"

Was she troubled that the Aegnor, an elf, was dead? Did it not sit well with her to see one of her people, no matter how traitorous he was, lifeless on the ground? He would ask her but she merely shook her head, saying in a quiet voice. "It is a strange sight, one that I am not used to," her emerald eyes flickered to the body of the silver dragon before returning to him and away.

Rather unsettled by her actions, he was about to ask her more when she turned her gaze back to him with a slight sad smile. Then her eyes drifted to the silver sword in his hand. "What do you plan on doing with his sword?"

"Return it to Rhunön," said Eragon as he eyed Sundavar. "I believe this sword has killed enough for the moment." Keeping the blade in his hands, he made to leave but paused as he took in the sight of Aegnor. _He was in love with another Forsworn, _thought Eragon with a slight frown. _He wanted revenge because Brom had killed her. _At the thought of his father, his eyes darted to the man and Eragon felt his frown deepen.

"Is something wrong?"

He was jolted out of his thoughts by Arya's voice. Turning his eyes to her, he blinked before shaking her head. "No, I was just reminded of someone," eyes darting back to Weldon, he gestured to her. "We should leave this area quickly. I have no doubt another Forsworn is about."

"That would be a logical plan," agreed Arya as the two of them set off to rejoin Weldon.

After asking about the sword to which Eragon gave him his intentions, Weldon had informed them that they would continue traveling and that they would not stop until they reached the border of Surda. A Forsworn would not dare fly into another country and risk war when Galbatorix was almost through implementing his authority over his Empire.

Yet there was something that bothered him. Though he could not exactly tell what, something was out of place. There was a strangeness to the air that unsettled him. _It is probably your mind, _Eragon told himself sternly as he ran beside Arya, who appeared to be much better than she did yesterday after the small skirmish with the Urgals.

Later that night as they were resting from having finally reached the borders of Surda, Eragon was eating a bowl of mushroom soup when Brom came to him. He paid his father no heed as he took a seat by the campfire beside him with a sound of relief. Eragon did not pay him much mind but he continued to eat his soup.

"You appear rather upset," said Brom breaking past all types of formalities. _That was right, _thought Eragon dryly, _father was always rather rude. _Mannerism seemed to escape Brom but he remembered a moment later that his father was originally from an isolated village to the west by the ocean. "Are you unhappy with something?"

"Unhappy?" he repeated to himself pausing as he ate. He wasn't even sure anymore. He had lived for the past decade devoting himself to fighting Galbatorix that there was little else to think about. Particularly his own feelings. After a long time, Eragon shook his head. "No, I do not believe I am unhappy."

"Then why is it that you look as if someone who has lost his way in life?" asked Brom.

"Do I?" questioned Eragon ignoring his sarcasm. Brom did not speak but merely waited for him to answer his question. Eating another spoonful of soup, he decided to merely wait and see if Brom would leave him to his solitude. But as time passed it became obvious that his father had no intentions of budging from where he sat. Finishing his soup, he place his empty bowl and wooden spoon on the ground, leaning his head back to stare up at the half moon.

After a long moment of silence in which only the crackling fire filled, Eragon spoke. "When you killed her, what did she say?"

"Sasha?"

Eragon nodded.

Brom appeared to think deeply, a frown on his face before he sighed, his age showing through his hard exterior. "She did not say much apart from some rather vile curses on my head, but I believe she wanted one last moment with Aegnor."

They fell quiet once more the two of them trying to let the realization sink in of what they had done. Though his heart faltered, his mind did not. It was cruel of them to rip apart mates but it was the only way. _If I begin to feel soft for my enemies it will only serve to hinder me, _thought Eragon but he could not help but think of Arya and how she had reacted when he had died in his time. Closing his eyes, he saw an image of her hunched over his body as she cried. For a moment, he heard her sobs ring through his ear and his heart clenched.

_Though they are my enemies, _thought Eragon his brows furrowed and his lips curled downwards in a rather morbid expression, _I would not wish the loss of a mate on anyone. _

Brom's perceptive eyes flickered to him before he raised a brow. "Do not tell me that you are mourning her death."

"No," Eragon shook his head before he sighed. "I do not care about the Forsworn…The situation just reminds me of something in my past. That is all, nothing more." Clenching his hands, his eyes darted to the ruby of his ring on his left hand.

"What is that?"

"Your curiosity knows no boundaries does it, Brom?" asked Eragon with a faint smile as he remembered Oromis once telling him that his father was curious of much growing up and never seemed to cease his stream of questions.

"Well, what is it?" Brom repeated ignoring his question with a gruff voice.

"It reminded me that losing someone you love dearly is a painful ordeal," answered Eragon and that was all he said but it was enough for Brom did not say anymore. Instead, the two of them merely sat there quietly letting the silence of the night hover over them as they contemplated. _Are we any different? Us and the Forsworn…_

The following day of travel, he was quietly subdued as he ran beside Arya and she made no move to reach out to speak to him. _Why would she, _he thought almost bitterly as he ran beside her. He had killed Aegnor and his dragon in a show of reckless and brutality. Even though a part of Arya knew that killing was necessary, she no doubt disagreed with his aloof disposition when doing so. The only comfort he had during their traveling was the part of Arya's soul that was merged with him. He never was truly alone even though it seemed like it to him.

After two days of traveling, they had reached Aberon, the capital of Surda. While Weldon went to speak to the Queen of Surda, they were left to retrieve their cargo and wares for the Varden. Surveying the work, he turned his head to the side catching sight of Arya observing the city of Aberon for the first time in her life. He wanted to say something to her but was unsure of how to approach her now.

When he saw the slight tilt of her head, he immediately glanced away. He didn't want her to see him staring. A moment passed in which he merely observed the loading of the carts. After a moment, he turned to Marlow, one of the men under his command. "I shall leave things in your hands Marlow," said Eragon turning to leave. "If there is something that needs to be done, do so at your own discretion."

"Of course sir," Marlow answered respectfully. Then his brows furrowed. "Do you plan on going somewhere? Should you not take some of the men with you?"

"I shall be fine, Marlow," said Eragon with a slight nod of his head. Then turning about he began to make his way through Aberon, content to just walking through the streets. Letting his feet carry him down the streets of the markets, he ignored the looks he received from the inhabitants of the city and continued through the streets unsure of where it was that he wanted to go until he came upon a beautiful and radiant cathedral.

He paused staring up at the structure and the peaked entryway. Lining the sides of the cathedral were ornate mosaic glass windows and a carving of a god stared down at him from the top of the cathedral building. The only cathedral he had stepped foot in before was the one of Dras-Leona and even then it was involuntary. The beauty of that particular cathedral was tainted by the knowledge that the worshippers of Helgrind resided there. But there was something that seemed to draw him to this cathedral, a slight curiosity. Taking a step towards the cathedral, he paused at the sight of white rose bushes that bloomed beneath the windows.

_A white rose…_

Slowly approaching the rose bush, he reached down and gently plucked a white rose from the bush admiring the flower in his hands, his fingers deftly missing the thorns that protruded from the stem. Admiring the rose in his hand, he made his way up the steps of the cathedral and pushed the large wooden doors open.

The inside of the cathedral was just as beautiful as its exterior and there was something spiritually encompassing about the way the light angled inwards from the windows, causing the pews to shine brightly, their wood looking polished. With slow steps, he made his way forward, his boots thudding softly against the wooden floor of the cathedral.

He had never given much thoughts to cathedrals or any building built in order to worship a greater being that had never been proven to exist. Holding his rose in his hand, he continued forward. Eyes sweeping from the north transept to the south transept, he blinked when the warmth of the sunlight came down on him. He had never believed in any sort of divinity nor the thought of a god. There was just too much sadness, pain, and cruelty in the world to even consider that there was a higher being that was above such.

Walking past the empty, cushioned pews until he stood directly on the raised platform on of the apse, he titled his head back to take in the carved ceiling plated with what appeared to be gold. _Do you exist? _But as he had expected there was no answer to his question. Scoffing to himself he lifted the white rose in his hand towards the light watching as the sunlight that flowed through the mosaic windows distort about the rose, giving its petals a warm red glow.

"Would you be laughing at me?" wondered Eragon as he stared at the white rose. He could think of what Arya would say if he started kneeling before the altar praying for a better future. She would undoubtedly argue with him about the lack of evidence to support any theories of the divine. Just thinking of her response lightened the darkness, if only slightly. "I never stopped thinking of you…of all of you."

It was true. In the last ten years though he had been busy with shaping the Varden into an effective rebel group, his thoughts had always floated over to his past and though he did not mourn, nor wallow in his own pity, he always gave himself some time to think of them. "Because if I do not remember you, who will?" Who would remember Arya's cool indifference and her devotion to the death of her father? Who would remember Brom and his desires to become a better father? Who would remember Ella, his sweet baby sister? And who would remember Saphira, his dragon as he did?

He rolled the stem in his hand admiring the red glow upon the petals as if it were softly burning with a gentle flame. _Do you believe in miracles? _He remembered once asking Arya such a question and how she was caught off guard. He smiled thinking about her reaction as they sat side by side eating a feast held by the dwarves. _Even if I cannot come to bring myself to believe in gods nor can I prove the existence of miracles, I believe in Alagaësia. _

There was a purpose to her agreeing to send him back in time. There was something that she knew and he didn't. Did she see in him defeating Galbatorix and winning? Did she see a brighter future? Closing his eyes, he focused on the feeling of Arya within him and her warmth willing his mind to construct an image of her before his eyes. _I want to see you, Arya. _His heart pounded as his mind wandered to Saphira. _I want to see the both of you. _

After a long moment, he opened his eyes not understanding why it was that he felt disappointed when he found that he was still alone in the cathedral. What did he expect? That Arya would miraculously appear beside him as if sensing his underlying pain? He was beginning to grow fanciful of mere daydreams.

"I love you…" _Saphira…Arya…_There was so much he wanted to say but he found it hard for him to do so when his words would not be head by those he wanted it to be heard by. He twirled the rose in his fingers once more, content to merely standing there and admiring its beauty.

_Thud…_

The sound of the doors closing met his ears followed by the soft treading of feet on the wooden floor. He turned and felt his heart stop, begin erratically beating, and stop once more at the sight of Arya. Though she was dressed in her leather clothing that many women seemed to find highly inappropriate for her well-endowed framed, he could not help but find her more beautiful than any woman that may have walked down the aisle between the pews. The way the sunlight shone down on her made her look like a vision of perfection.

And suddenly, images of Arya began to flood through his mind. Flashes of skin, a face flushed with pleasure, glorious ebony hair splayed across white sheets, and read lips curved into a beautiful smile all flooded his mind. Finding it difficult to reel in his unruly thoughts, he did so but the warmth emanating from the part of Arya within him made it hard for him to concentrate.

The sound of her footsteps drew his attention once more and he turned to her and suddenly he was overcome by the image of Arya wearing a beautiful dress gliding towards him, the light from the windows softly embracing her petite figure. No matter how ridiculous the thought of Arya marrying was, he could not be help admire the vision of a beautiful bride in his mind. If she did believe in marriage, the sight of her gliding so effortlessly down the aisle would be sure enough to kill the groom on the spot. As it was, he found it difficult to breathe and he was wondering why his heart had not jumped out of his chest with the way it pounded in its cage.

"I apologize if I am bothering you," said Arya as she stepped up onto the platform beside him, the scent of crushed pine needles washing over him as another flash of memory burned through his mind. He fought to grit his teeth, trying to force his body into submission. He was sure that the Arya before him would not appreciate how he was thinking of her even if his Arya had given herself to him fully.

"No, you are not bothering me," said Eragon shaking his head to ease her worried. "I was just thinking to myself." His eyes flickered to the rose in his hand, he rolled the stem between his fingers once more studying the flower intently. _I am glad you came to find me. _"Is there something you needed from me Arya? Are the men finished with loading the carts?"

"They are still working," said Arya as she lifted her eyes to stare up at the ceiling in which a story of an all knowing god was overseeing the birth of a baby child was carved. He saw her lips curl downwards and could not help but want to laugh at the slightly displeased expression on her face.

"Do you believe in gods, Arya?" he could not help but ask her.

She turned her emerald eyes to him and in her deep irises he saw the signs of her distaste with the subject. "Elves do not believe in greater divinities," she said, her tone saying that such a statement was enough to prove her thoughts on the ideas of mythology and divinity.

"But I am asking you, Arya, not your people," said Eragon watching as her eyes sparkled curiously. She tilted her head to stare up at him and her brows furrowed slightly and her lips were pursed. He waited, intent on just reveling in her presence. For the past two days, he had thought she was disgusted with him and unable to stand his presence after he had killed a dragon but it appeared that he was wrong.

After a long moment, she spoke slowly. "I cannot disprove the existence of a god nor can I prove that one does exist. I cannot believe in something whether it be a theory or a belief without evidence to prove it. How can one believe in something that is not proven? Where does the basis of that belief lie?" she shook her head, her tone strong as she continued speaking. "Therefore as an answer to your question, I do not believe in their existence."

He smiled slightly as he inclined his head to peer down into her emerald eyes. He had thought as much. "Do you believe in gods, Eragon?"

He thought about her question before he shook his head. "No, I never put much faith in wishful thinking. If a god exist then surely Galbatorix shouldn't," his eyes flickered to the ceiling where they landed on the powerful being depicted as the all-knowing creator of humans. "But I am certain that there exists a being that is more powerful than any of us."

And that being was Alagaësia but he did not voice his thoughts to Arya.

Lowering his eyes from the ceiling, he turned to find Arya staring up at him in concern. Instantly a warm feeling encompassed him at her worry. It always made him feel better to have her attention. "You have been appearing troubled ever since your fight with Aegnor and his dragon."

"Has Brom told you this?" asked Eragon curiously.

Arya shook her head. "Nay, he does not speak of your troubles but it is not difficult for me to see that you are bothered. I have known you for nine years before you left Du Weldenvarden to join the Varden, it would be odd if I did not notice. For we are friends."

_Friends…_

He nodded, "Yes we are."

"Then I hope I do not overstep my boundaries when I ask how you are feeling," said Arya.

He sighed before gesturing to the front most pew directly before the raised platform. The two of them both took a seat on the wooden bench, side by side. He saw one of her hands resting on her knee and wanted to reach out and enclose her small hand in his remembering the soft feeling of her skin even if it was decades ago when he held her hand.

"It bothers me," said Eragon eventually as he stared at the white rose in his hand. "That the person I killed was an elf who wanted to avenge the loss of his mate." At her expression, he continued before she could get the wrong impression from his words. "I do not regret killing a Forsworn but the idea of using his sorrow at the loss of his mate is somewhat sickening. It does not sit well with me for some reason." _Because it reminds me too much of Arya. _If someone were to use his death against her…his frown hardened and he felt a deep pang of sadness well within him and not for the first time he thought of how unfair everything was.

He was the one given the second chance and no one else was. Sitting there beside Arya, he couldn't help but want to turn and ask her what she thought of his decision but the words never left his mouth. He blinked when he felt soft fingers on his left hand that he had not realized he had fisted. Surprised, he could only stare at the nimble fingers that gently uncurled his fingers. His eyes flickered to meet Arya's and he felt warmth spread through him at her soft expression.

"I realize that there is little I can do to ease your troubled mind Eragon," said Arya gently, her hand still resting on his. Though it was a gentle touch of a friend's, he felt as if his skin was burning. "It must bother you to kill someone who was once your brethren—to kill a dragon. If it is of any comfort, no one thinks less of you of ridding the world of one more evil. Do not let yourself be burdened by your actions. You did what was best for the Varden and for our goal."

"Perhaps," murmured Eragon. He blinked when Arya's fingers gently pressed against his hand, a gesture of comfort.

"Breathing helps," said Arya, repeating his worlds to her from a few days earlier. He could only stare at her feeling his throat dry and his eyes itch irrationally at the thought of her comforting him. It had been so long since someone had ever reached out to comfort him. He had always been the one to be strong that it felt odd to be put in a position where he had to rely on someone else.

"And I learned that speaking of your troubles with a friend helps too," said Arya continuing. Her eyes flickered to the white rose in his hand and back to his face. "We are friends Eragon. That has not changed since you left Ellesméra all those years earlier. Do not be afraid to speak to me as friends should."

Holding her gaze, he could only nod as he felt Arya's warmth within him seep through his veins as if to give credence to the words she had just spoke to him. After a long moment, he nodded. "Thank you," said Eragon sincerely. "Though I doubt I can repay the favor to you Arya. I do not think I am well fit to comfort another person."

"I do not think so," she said quietly a slight smile tugging on her lips. "You are very kind Eragon."

He was stunned. No one had ever called him kind except for one person apart from Saphira and that was Arya. She had called him kind in this time and in his past time and for a moment he was overwhelmed by emotion. He could only nod and with one last squeeze of his hand, she retracted her hand. Whether or not she noticed how much her words meant to him she gave them no indication but instead turned to stare about the cathedral.

"Despite the purpose of this cathedral," said Arya, "It is nonetheless rather beautiful."

"Yes," Eragon nodded, his eyes focused on the tilt of her head and the soft glow of her skin against the light pouring in through the windows. "It is."

They sat there for a moment longer before Arya stood, turning her head to him. "I shall go check on the soldiers," she said as he turned his head to stare up at her. "I shall see you when you return, Eragon." With one last glance in his direction she turned and left leaving him to his thoughts once more. Hearing the doors close behind him, he turned to face the front. His heart felt considerably lighter than it did this morning.

Staring at the white rose in his hand, he felt a soft and yet sad smile curve onto his lips. "I'm kind…Arya?"

As he studied the white rose in his hand, he lifted a finger to touch the white petals of the flower as a memory came to him from long ago—a memory of him and Arya during a time in which there was much strife and yet in which the both of them were happy.

_Letting his hands stroke her smooth back, Eragon blinked down at the beautiful ebony haired elf-maiden that laid atop him, her weight comparable to a feather as she pressed down on him. Her legs which were tangled with his shifted as she moved against him stretching like a cat lazily before she winced slightly. Immediately, one of his hands slid down to caress her hip trying to ease the soreness she felt. _

"_Does it hurt much?" asked Eragon worriedly. _

_Arya merely smiled at him as she traced nonsensical patterns on his chest. "You are very kind Eragon," she said softly causing him to raise a brow at her words. _

"_I do not think that the majority would agree with your statement," said Eragon shivering slightly when she pressed her lips to his chest. _

"_Perhaps not," she agreed her emerald eyes sparkling. "To me you were always kind despite your aloof ways and indifferent nature." _

_He didn't know why but her words touched him greatly. He could only stare down at her as she smiled back up at him. "You were always like a white rose to me…my white rose that helped me escape Gil'ead…the only gesture of kindness I saw during my captivity by Durza." _

"_A white rose?" questioned Eragon curiously watching as she nodded, raising herself on her elbows above him so that she could stare down at him tenderly. His hands drifted slowly from her back to her hips, softly caressing her skin. _

"_White roses are beautiful and pure and yet they possess thorns of their own," she said. "But if you look past the thorns, the flower itself is full of beauty. Just like you." She leaned down and touched their foreheads together, their lips whispering against each other's. Then Arya tilted her head slightly and pressed her lips fully against his. _

"I was your white rose," said Eragon to no one in particular as he eyed the rose in his hands. "But will you need a white rose when you have a black morning glory?"

Staring at the rose for a moment longer, he stood and approached the altar in which a basin of clear water rested. Lifting the rose to his nose, he let the flowery scent wash over him before with great care, placed it in the basin. Staring at the rose as it floated on the surface of the water, he sighed and then turned away making his way out of the cathedral. He had thought enough for one day.

Instead, he continued to wander the markets trying to lighten his thoughts. Evening was beginning to set it and he felt a gentle breeze in the air despite the fiery glow of the sky. Wandering in the rather crowded streets of the capital of Aberon, he blinked as he passed an alleyway in which he heard the sound of a scuffle. Frowning, he turned his head to see a cloaked figure being harassed by three drunkards. One of the tall brutes grabbed the person's slim wrist tugging on it roughly causing her hood to cascade about her shoulders revealing a beautiful face in which sapphire eyes peered out of.

Eragon frowned at the scene. Not waiting for another moment, he strode forward and with barely any effort pulled the man off of her. "What do you think you are doing?" asked Eragon as he threw the man at his companions.

"And who might you be?" the man asked outraged at the interruption.

One of his companions squinted at Eragon before his face turned into a scowl. "It's the elf from the Varden."

There was a slither of sound. With narrowed eyes, Eragon held the tip of Brisingr right before the man who had tried to grab the woman earlier. "What were you saying?" asked Eragon his voice not betraying his annoyance.

Losing all of their bravado that their drunken state provided for them earlier, they stuttered hurried apologies before turning tail and fleeing. Scoffing at their poor response, he sheathed Brisingr and turned to the woman from earlier. She was staring at him with a curious expression and for some reason she appeared oddly familiar to him.

"Are you fine?" asked Eragon. She nodded. Seeing as there was nothing else for him to do he turned and began to leave pausing when she called out to him.

"Wait," a frown instantly made its way to his face as he turned to her. _Why does that voice sound so familiar? _

"What is it?" asked Eragon.

"You are rather rude," she said with raised brows as she stopped before him.

Eragon raised a brow at her. "I believe I can say the same for you. Now if you have nothing else to say to me apart from insults, I shall be leaving." He turned to leave and emerged back onto the busy street. To his slight annoyance the woman from earlier followed him.

"Who are you?" she asked as she easily kept up with his long strides, her dark cloak fluttering about her figure.

"Who are you?" Eragon replied. He was never apt at speaking with others, particularly strangers and for someone who had insulted him he found himself speaking rather shortly.

"You can call me Elvina," he blinked at the strange name but did not say anything. Instead he continued to walk and when it became obvious that he was not going to tell her who he was, she sent him a glare. "It is called common courtesy to introduce yourself once someone has introduced themselves to you."

He sighed and turned to her, "Eragon is my name," he said, he then pinned her with a stare. When she made no move to leave, he reached up to rub his temples. His earlier happiness at Arya's warm words was beginning to fade replaced by annoyance. "Can I help you?"

Her blue eyes narrowed as she stared up at him and for a moment he thought he recognized the expression somewhere but it did not come to him. "For someone who had acted like my savior, you are rather cold."

"I do not enjoy making small talk," said Eragon truthfully.

"You there," he blinked turning to the man running the table filled with all types of scarves behind him. "If you do not plan on buying, then will you leave? You are blocking my table."

Nodding, he made to move but Elvina moved forward snatching a rather expensive looking red scarf from the table. "He is buying something," said Elvina. Eragon turned to her with a snort. He was not going to buy that scarf for her. If she wanted it, she could use her own crowns. He turned away but stopped when the seller blocked his way.

"Pay and then you can leave with your woman, I won't have you two trying to cheat me of my honest work," he said with narrowed eyes.

Eragon frowned and was about to sweep the man aside when Elvina came up to his side and touched him on the shoulder instantly causing him to stiffen. "You will buy it for me will you not Eragon?" glaring at her, he was about to snap at her but thought better about it. If he bought her the scarf hopefully she would leave him alone. Reaching into his pockets for the crowns, he paid the seller and when the man happily stepped to the side, Eragon began forward about ready to lose Elvina's company.

When they emerged onto the center courtyard of the city where a beautiful fountain was erected, Eragon turned to Elvina and was ready to glower at her. He blinked when she held the scarf out to him. "What?" asked Eragon glaring at the object of his annoyance. He did not want to be reminded that he was forced to purchase a scarf for this strange woman.

"Consider it a token of my gratitude," said Elvina simply. Eragon stared at her and when she made no move to retract her arm he reached up to take the scarf letting the smooth material caress his fingers.

"Your idea of gratitude is strange," said Eragon as he stared at the red scarf. After a long moment's contemplation, he reached up and loosely wrapped the scarf about her head so that all he saw was her blue eyes. "Now consider this my gratitude. Stop following me…" he turned to leave and paused glancing over his shoulder at her surprised eyes. "Why don't you use that scarf to keep warm or cover your face so that you aren't attacked next time."

He had a vague feeling that she was smiling at him in amusement when he turned away but he didn't give it much thought. Instead he made his way back towards his men. _What a strange woman, _thought Eragon as he tried to get over the feeling that he had seen Elvina somewhere before.

As he walked, he turned a street and blinked when he caught sight of Arya standing a few yards down from him, watching the men as they worked. When she glanced up as if sensing that someone was watching her, she turned her head in his direction and he couldn't help but feel warmth flood him from earlier. Though Elvina had called him rude as long as Arya thought he was kind, that was enough. With a faint smile, he began to make his way towards her.

Laughter sounded from behind him and two kids ran past, both young girls and in their hands they clutched a white rose but ones without thorns.

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**I missed the interactions between ExA in RL so I put that flashback in this chapter to fulfill that missing desire. Apart from that, it also served to give more history to ExA in TMF. Also, I always like the white rose in connection to Eragon and Arya and their relationship and if you all hadn't read RL, the white rose is Eragon's favorite flower and it serves to represent ExA in RL. And for those curious about Elvina...it shall be explained in the later chapters. (You should all look up the meaning of her name!) In any case, I wrote this chapter to explore Eragon's and Arya's interactions more. I hope you all enjoyed it. Anyways, I hope to see you all soon! **


	17. Chapter 17

**And so here is another chapter. I think the only concern that I wanted to address was some comments about the update speed of TMF. I'm not going to update TMF daily like I did RL. I mean, if I can I will, but other than that TMF isn't my biggest priority at the moment. But I'll try to keep the updates quick with little wait time in between just not daily updates that's all. Now with that addressed please enjoy this chapter! R&R! **

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Closing the door behind him, Eragon blinked when he saw Arya stepping outside of her door as well. It was early dawn and though he loathed to wake early, he had to go and train the soldiers before meeting with Brom to speak about several strategies on how to deal with the Forsworn. She turned her head and caught sight of him a smile stretching across her lips at the sight of him.

Eragon greeted her as they met each halfway through the hall. She tilted her head at him, "You are training the soldiers today?" asked Arya.

"I am," he inclined a brow. "Will you be advising with Weldon and the others? I had thought that there had plenty of meetings since our return from Surda a week past."

She shook her head, her midnight tresses swaying with the motion. "Nay, Weldon has not requested a meeting for today. I woke merely with the intentions of rising early, nothing more." She paused her expression growing slightly hesitant. "Would you mind if I joined you? I have yet to see you training the soldiers and I admit that I am curious."

"If you have nothing else that you are needed for then by all means, you are welcome to accompany me down to the training field," said Eragon. He gestured for her to walk with him. The two of them made their way down the hall and emerged from hidden hallway. The reason it was overlooked so easily was due to the angle of the wall making it seem smooth when in reality there was a gap large enough for a person to fit through. It was cunning engineering on the dwarves' part.

"Have you seen all there is to see of Tronjheim?" asked Eragon as they walked together. In three more months, she would have been serving as an ambassador to her people for a year. Eyes darting to the beautiful city about them and the white marble of the buildings, he waited patiently for Arya's answer.

"I have not yet," said Arya but he could see a shine of curiosity in her eyes at the thought of exploring more of Tronjheim. "Though I doubt that I could unravel all the mysteries that Tronjheim has to offer."

"There is much here," agreed Eragon.

"And what of you Eragon?" she turned her head to him. "You have had a decade more than I to explore Tronjheim, have you seen all there is to see?"

He shook his head. In truth, whenever he had time he would wonder Tronjheim in search of the flower that Arya had told him about once. He wanted to find the flower that had gave Arya the strength to find herself. But it was near impossible. There were just too many rooms for him to go through and the tunnels held different paths that he did not want to end up losing himself beneath Farthen Dûr. It was as if the flower did not want to be sought out but rather stumbled upon just as Arya had stumbled upon it in her wanderings.

"No," as he thought of the room which held the flower that Arya explained to him about, the soft whisper of her true name rang through his mind. As always when he thought of his mate, a tenderness that was different from the way he felt about Saphira and his mother rose up within him. "But I will continued to search through Tronjheim."

"For what?" It was a curious question on Arya's part but it made his heart clench. _Would she find her true name if the same were to happen? _For one moment, he had the strongest urge to whisper her true name and see if she would respond to him but he threw the thought from his mind the moment it took root. That would be the greatest violation he could do to Arya.

"A promise I made," answered Eragon eventually.

She did not ask him to elaborate which he was grateful for. The two of them walked together until they emerged onto the training field. It was a large dirt area that was half a mile in diameter in which a hundred or so soldiers could train on the field all at once without getting in the way of each other.

The bulk of the training ground was occupied by a crooked block of foot soldiers struggling with shields and poleaxes nearly as tall as themselves. They drilled as a group in formations. Practicing beside them were hundreds of individual warriors outfitted with swords, maces, spears, staves, flails, shields of all shapes and sizes. Nearly all the fighters wore armor, usually chain mail and a helmet; plate armor was not as common. There were as many dwarves as humans, though the two kept mainly to themselves. Behind the sparring warriors, a broad line of archers fired steadily at gray sackcloth dummies.

When he was not training them, he let the soldiers take it upon themselves to practice formation but when he did train them, he usually split them accordingly to weapon preference and then by order of skill. The most skilled of the men would spar with each other while he would have the less skilled train their body and mind first before they even attempted a sparring match.

Upon arriving on the training ground, Rosalie came to greet him. While she had devoted a great deal of her time to helping him expand and teach the members of Du Gata Vrangr, she had also came to assist him in training the soldiers. Though Rosalie was very skilled with a blade as she had proven on numerous occasions when some of the soldiers had found it laughable that she, a woman, was teaching them, her true mastery laid in archery.

"Eragon," he smiled at her. Having been used to her calling him by his title of lord for so long, it was always welcoming to know that Rosalie viewed him as a friend. During the past four years that she had taught by his side, he had come to know his servant once more and was heartened that she was not different from how he knew her at first. Rosalie was still seeking the answers to her life. She wanted to know where it was that she would be going in a life that seemed timeless and he hoped that he would be able to give her the answers. Perhaps he could even find a way to introduce her to Blödhgarm. "I hope the morning sees you well."

"It does," answered Eragon with a tilt of his head. "And you Rosalie? Has Angela been irritating as of late?"

"Let us say that she has been rather interesting," said Rosalie her emerald eyes darting to Arya. She curiously stared at the elven ambassador as if trying to assess for herself why she was there. "I believe we have not met before despite your stay here in Tronjheim. I am Rosalie."

"Arya," replied Arya in kind.

Though he did not say anything as they introduced themselves, he made sure to keep an eye on their expressions trying to glean any sort of information he could. In his past, Rosalie and Arya had never gotten along well. They were on cordial and distant relations but nothing more. And at some times, he thought they were straining themselves in each other's presence. Even to this day, he never really understood why it was that they seemed incapable of being kinder towards each other.

"Arya has come to observe," said Eragon when Rosalie turned her eyes to him. "She will not bother us as we train the soldiers."

"Of course," said Rosalie though he could see the slight curve downwards to her lips. "In any case, are we to proceed as we normally do?"

"I do not see the reason as to not," said Eragon as he turned his head to take in the warriors training. "Do you need any help with the archers?"

"No, I believe they listen to me well enough," said Rosalie with a slight smile. He turned to her and felt himself nod. He had never admitted it to anyone but he had always held a soft spot for his servants. They could be annoying, irritating, and overbearing but they had good intentions and there was never a dull day with them concerned.

"Is she a friend of yours?" asked Arya as Rosalie trailed off towards the archers were so that she could oversee their training. Eragon turned to Arya and nodded.

"She has helped me train the warriors of the Varden as well as the members of Du Gata Vrangr for the past four years," explained Eragon. "She may appear normal but there is more to Rosalie than what one can gather from merely her appearance."

"You sound like you know her well," observed Arya. Eragon paused trying to remember if he had heard Arya speak in this tone of voice to Rosalie in his past life. When he could not make a connection he merely let the moment pass. It could very well be that he was making up their enmity in his mind. It was possible.

Turning away from Arya, he strode forward until he stood before the array of warriors training. "Stop!" Voice ringing loud and clear over the practice field, Eragon was pleased when the human warriors immediately ceased what it was that they were doing. They were well aware of their training regimen and the last time one person had dared to question him, he had them lying on their back gasping for air due to his disrespect.

Seeing as he had their full attention, Eragon watched as they lowered their weapons their eyes finding him. More than a few eyes flickered to Arya who stood behind him and he could see some the beginnings of anxiety on some faces and then the emergence of bravado on others. "Break into the formations that you have been assigned," Eragon ordered. "Those of you who have joined in the army, you shall leave your weapons and armor and run the perimeter of the training ground." He saw quite a few disheartened expressions but he gave them no thought. Instead, he continued giving out orders watching as they carried them out without protest.

Satisfied, Eragon turned to Arya. "If you would like, you can always walk about and observe the warriors," said Eragon, then he thought about it for a moment and frowned to himself. Though Arya had been with the Varden for over nine months, her presence was still fairly new. He remembered himself what it was like to have joined the Varden at first. There was always a degree of distrust that they held for him and now it seemed as if Arya was being subjected to the same thing. Not to mention that she was also a woman. Though genders were equals in the elven realm, it was never seen as such in human culture. Women would always be inferior to men.

He could not even imagine what would happen if one of the warriors looked down at Arya thought Eragon torn between amusement and worry. Deciding to not let the thought get the best of him, he instead waited for Arya to start about the training grounds studying the men as they trained. Meanwhile Eragon went in the opposite direction. He kept one eye on their progress and the other on Arya. Whether or not she realized it but her presence was causing quite a stir.

"If you would focus less on the elven ambassador and more on your opponent you would not have been beaten so easily," said Eragon to one of the warriors. The young man with dark brown hair nodded as he straightened rubbing his aching side. "Always keep your eyes on the enemy."

"Of course sir," nodding Eragon continued onwards.

It was rather hypocritical of him to berate the warrior when he found himself also watching Arya's progress. While some soldiers tensed at her presence, he could see others trying to impress her by flourishing their skills too much. He tried to hold back his laughter at how ridiculous some of the men appeared. _So this was what Arya had to face initially when she joined the Varden? _At least she isn't along anymore.

Turning his eyes away from Arya, he continued to observe the soldiers and when it was apparent that they were all handling their training well, he rejoined Arya's side. "What are your opinions?" asked Eragon as he stopped before Arya.

"You are training them well," she said acknowledging his skill.

"They need to be trained well in order to face the battles to come if they do," said Eragon softly as he stared at the warriors, hard at work. His eyes flickered over to where Rosalie was training the archers. Rather than using immobile targets, she was using magic alongside Lucas to charm balls of hardened dirt into the air to test their accuracy. He had to admit as he watched more than one arrow pierce its target that the archers were well trained. He had made the right choice in giving Rosalie full reign over their training it seemed.

"Eragon."

"Hmm?"

He turned to Arya to find her curiously watching him. "If you are willing, perhaps the two of us can spar together. I still have much to learn when it comes to the blade and there is none else here who can teach me apart from you."

"It is an honor that you consider me so highly," said Eragon inwardly pleased that she would ask him to train her. Her words were true. Arya had much to learn and she would do so in the next seventy years. But as of currently she was not yet a master of fighting. "And to answer you, Arya, I am never one to turn down an opponent."

He could see the beginnings of a smile grow on her face and felt anticipation well up within him. If there was one thing that Arya was during battles it was herself. She was free and fierce like a torrent of wind that was unyielding to the earth as she was to her opponents. They two of them made way towards an unoccupied part of the training ground and rather than unsheathing both of his blades, Eragon only unsheathed Vrangr. He warded the sapphire blade while Arya did the same for her own sword.

He was not by any means going to treat Arya any differently than any of his other opponents. He only wanted to see how well she would spar against him if each of them only used one sword. They moved a few yards away from each other in the opposite direction before turning to face one another. Bending his knees slightly, he held Vrangr outwards at a slant to his body while Arya merely regarded him with a straight posture, her sword held away from her body.

A trickle of excitement welled within him as he stared at her.

Eragon blinked.

Arya tilted her head to the side slightly.

Then they were upon each other, their speeds bringing them together. Blades meeting in a furious clash, he felt his heart stutter in his chest as he saw the familiar gleam in Arya's eyes showing once more. It was a gleam of freedom and the ability to let go of the formalities and mannerism for a more basic and instinctive passion. She pulled her sword back and batter Vrangr to the side much to Eragon's surprise in his one moment of distraction. Twisting his torso, he easily let Arya's sword slide past him.

_Do not make a fool of yourself gaping at her, _Eragon heatedly berated himself as he focused his attention on Arya as she gracefully shifted her feet about her sword swinging in an arch towards him. He turned and brought Vrangr upwards their sword gleaning off of each other in different directions. Turning his wrist slightly, he brought Vrangr back down only to have Arya parry him.

She was excellent despite the fact that the first time she had fought had been but weeks earlier. However, there was a slight advantage Eragon had that she didn't as they fought. He had perfected his fighting style against Arya since the first time they sparred and though this Arya was different it didn't mean that he couldn't easily read her moves.

Seeing a slightly sway to her motion, Eragon's eyes narrowed as he drew back making it seem as if he were retreating. Then with quick feet, he feinted on her right his eyes drawn to the sway of her body once more. Seeing her intentions, he pulled back as Arya's sword came to parry his and shuffling his feet to the side easily rapped Arya on her left side with Vrangr watching as she stumbled backwards slightly in surprise at the contact.

He watched as the surprise left her only to be replaced by a determined expression as she stared at him, readying her sword once more. Then with a silent cry she ran towards him, her sword flashing in her hands. Meeting her once more, their swords roughly clanked together but the note that the metals of their swords made sounded like music to him. Unwilling to back down, Eragon easily dodged a swipe to his shoulder.

Though he could no doubt have ended their sparring match early, he did not. Instead, he drew it out as long as he could trying to give rise to the ferocity that he knew laid dormant in Arya. And he was rewarded as he locked blades with her once more taking in the burning flames in her irises. Then without warning, he pulled Vrangr away grabbing the wrist of her left hand and pulling her towards him causing her to stumble. Then with his feet, he swept hers from underneath her and with little effort brought her down to the ground onto her back before he lightly pressed the warded edge of Vrangr to her fair skinned throat.

"Dead," whispered Eragon softly watching as a flash of emotion appeared in her eyes before disappearing the next second.

Withdrawing Vrangr, he removed the wards from his sword before sheathing it. By the time he was down, Arya was already on her feet and sliding her sword back into its sheath as well. He watched as she ran her finger through her hair calming it after the sparring match of theirs. All around, Eragon could see the other warriors trying to hastily return to what they were doing earlier after of the reprimanding he would bring down on their heads if he saw that they were off task.

"You fought well," Eragon said honestly as he stared down at Arya who was wearing a rather dissatisfied expression on her face.

"There is still much left for me to learn," she said softly.

"And you will," said Eragon, he paused unsure if he should voice his thoughts to her but after a moment of contemplation he continued. "If you would like, we can spar daily so that you can perfect your skills."

She nodded and for some reason he thought that she might have appeared embarrassed by his great willingness to help her but then again he had never _really _seen an embarrassed Arya before so he couldn't pass judgment well enough. Before he could say any more a runner had come saying that Weldon sought Arya's presence. After saying farewell to her, he returned his attention to the warriors and felt himself frown when he caught more than one staring at Arya's departure.

_It can't be helped, _thought Eragon with a sigh.

With her gone and doing her duties, he was reminded once more that he had his own obligations to carry out. He continued to train the soldiers well into noon and when it appeared as if they could no longer move due to their exertions did he dismiss them. After saying his farewells to Rosalie, he began to make his way to where Brom was no doubt waiting for him. His father had asked that Eragon had met him when he was not tending to his obligations so that they could speak about the Forsworn. Only nine of the Forsworn remained and Brom was willing to make sure that he destroyed the rest of them.

_I have yet to see Morzan, _thought Eragon and he would not deny the fact that he would be very interested to meet Murtagh's father and his mother's first lover. He frowned slightly at the user of the word lover.

Turning a corner, Eragon continued walking only to stop when he heard something slice through the air towards him. He felt an object glean off of his words and glanced up to see a dart dipped in yellow liquid angling away from him and into the ceiling where it collided with the stone before falling to the ground.

_What? _

Turning about, he blinked when he saw a flash of black turn about a corner. Nearly growling to himself, he ran after the person. Was that an assassination attempt? Turning a corner, he blinked when he felt another object press against his wards. A dagger was held an inch away from his body unable to cause him any harm. Raising his eyes, he found himself staring into furious brown eyes and a face cloaked by a black cloth.

Then without any difficulties, he slammed the dagger out of the person's grip and tugged the person forward ripping the cloth away from their face to reveal a young man. "And who are you?" asked Eragon as he gripped the man by the throat with narrowed eyes. "Clearly not the smartest assassin. But you do have the stupidity to try."

The man appeared to be gathering his spit but before he could do so much as to open his mouth, Eragon's grip on his throat hardened causing his skin to turn purple as he gagged, trying to breathe through his nostrils.

"I wonder if I should kill you," said Eragon softly as he stared at the man. "You certainly don't look like anyone of importance."

A gurgle was his answer.

Then from behind him another voice spoke. "If you kill him, there goes your chance to find out more about his intentions."

Eragon frowned as he blinked turning his head to stare at the new comer and was shocked to find Elvina leaning against the opposite wall of the tunnel. How had she gotten into the Varden? Did she follow him? Blinking in surprise, he momentarily forgot about the man struggling for air in his grip and turned to her.

"And what are you doing here?" before she could answer, he forged on. "No, rather, how did you manage to get here?"

She shrugged. "I followed you," her sapphire eyes became gloating. "It is not difficult to do so when a few hundred men are traveling in the same direction. Perhaps you could work on being more discrete the next time you venture forth."

He scowled darkly. He was going to have to speak with Weldon about discretion next time but for now…Turning back to the man struggling in his grips, Eragon sighed. As much as he liked to merely end the assassin's miserable life he had protocols to follow. He would need to bring the man to Weldon and from then the leader of the Varden could deicide with to do with him.

"Slytha," the man stopped struggling and went limp in his grip. Staring down at him, Eragon merely let him crumple to the ground.

"Rude and cruel," observed Elvina.

He turned to her a flare of suspicion rising in him. "As much as I enjoy your remarks," said Eragon with narrowed eyes, "I have to question how you managed to arrive here and who you are. No mere human woman would transverse the length of Aberon to the Beor Mountains by herself. And so my question is, who are you?"

She stared at him, her eyes flickered to the unconscious assassin at Eragon's feet before they moved back to hold his gaze. Sweeping her long hair back from her shoulders, Elvina regarded him with a hard gaze before she spoke. "I have already told you who I am," she said inclining her chin. "If you prefer it said once more then I shall say it once more."

"I do not see how I can trust you," said Eragon noticing for the first time that the red scarf that she had forced him to buy was wrapped about her throat. His eyes flickered back to the startling blue of hers.

She frowned at him before letting forth a sigh as if she was suffering the greatest pain known to humans. Then almost lazily, she spoke but this time not in the human tongue but in the elven tongue. "I am Elvina and I mean you and the Varden no harm," said Elvina, her words not faltering in the slightest.

Eragon frowned at how she had cornered him. He had wanted to search her mind but then again he was also afraid of what could be revealed if his mind was in contact with another's for too long. Instead, he merely stared at her, his lips curled downwards as she tried to figure out for himself what Elvina was. A part of him did not trust her. There was something unnatural about Elvina that made him cautious. She was too relaxed, too sarcastic and mocking, and too forceful particularly about him. Normally, the natural human response to an elf was to shy away. But she was different. She reminded him of Rosalie and Angela but not.

The other part of him wanted to trust her for she had spoken clearly and without effort in the ancient language. But even then the language had its flaws. He would know for he had been able to lie or skirt the truth numerous times with the many loopholes that the language provided.

"You still do not believe me?" asked Elvina, relaxed despite the obvious tension that was lacing through Eragon.

"Forgive me if I find it hard to place my trust in a stranger," said Eragon causing Elvina to frown at him.

"Are you naturally vile?"

"It would depend on who I am speaking to," said Eragon as he eyed her.

She did not say anything but merely scowled up at him then as if she was doing him a great service she spoke, "If it would ease your mind, you can search my thoughts to see if I am who I claim to be," said Elvina surprising Eragon. The fact that she was willing to submit her thoughts to inspection made him falter. If she was someone who meant him or the Varden harm she would never be open to such a suggestion. Then again, this could be a ploy.

Walking up to her, he stopped directly before Elvina. He had to admit when she did not flinch in the face of his presence that he was impressed. But as impressed as he was, he was also very aware that Elvina could pose as a danger. "You said that I can search your mind," said Eragon watching as she nodded. He raised his chin slightly. "Then I shall not decline your offer."

"Then make sure you do well to keep to yourself and look for only what you need," Elvina warned dangerously her blue eyes sparkling as if to warn him that if he dared to delve into her inner sanctums he would be punished accordingly.

Taking in a deep breath, he held her gaze as he reached out with a calm tendril of thought towards Elvina's mind. It did not take long for that tendril to gently brush a wall. Slowly, the wall came down and he was admitted entrance into her mind. Her mind, Eragon thought as he searched through her thoughts, was very dark. Not in the sense of lacking any sort of light but there was an ominous lilt to her thoughts that bode ill. Yet despite the dark tint of her mind, he could not find anything that would show that she was their enemy. After a few moments of searching, Eragon pulled back frowning as Elvina challenged him with her blue eyes.

"Well, have you found anything that is of concern to you?" asked Elvina almost mockingly as if she _knew _that he couldn't have found anything dangerous. His frown deepened. There was a method, Eragon knew, to fool another person when searching through their mind. Galbatorix had once shown him but it would take master of manipulation to do so. His eyes darted to Elvina and wandered for a moment if what he saw, despite the briefness of it, was real. But he had no way to prove her to be a liar and had to grudgingly admit defeat to her.

"No," said Eragon watching as her smile grew somewhat smug. "But you still did not answer my question. What are you doing here? Do you plan on joining the Varden?"

She scoffed as if insulted. "No, I was merely interested in you. I have heard word from some of the soldiers that you killed a Forsworn." Her blue eyes gleamed as she stared up at him and he was once more cautious of Elvina.

"What of it?" Eragon waved the matter aside.

"You appear rather calm," observed Elvina.

"Should I not be?" Eragon retorted with a raised brow.

She lifted a shoulder in a noncommittal act. He merely shook his head. Turning, Eragon blinked when another dagger came slicing through the air towards him glancing off of his wards once more. His eyes turned to the assassin, who had managed to get to his feet. Eyes narrowed, he raised his hand and with a shout threw the assassin back with a ball of magic knocking him unconscious.

He turned in time to see the dagger pierce one of the flameless lanterns. Remembering what had happened during the assassination attempt on Murtagh without thinking, he drew Elvina to him. She stiffened in his arms but did not resist him as he threw them to the ground as a booming explosion shook the entire tunnel.

"Stay down!" Eragon shouted to her as he braced his body against the ground trying to cocoon her beneath him. Though he may dislike Elvina, she was still human and was not as strong as he was. Or that was what he thought. Feeling the torrents of wind mercilessly rip through the enclosed space, he gritted his teeth pressing closer to the ground not noticing the slight flush that blossomed on Elvina's face.

When at last the explosion subsided, Eragon tentatively moved to his feet. His ears pounded with pain, moving forward to where the lantern had exploded, he made sure to deliberately step on the assassin's chest as he did so. He had forgotten how destructive the flameless lanterns could be.

"I will most definitely torture you," said Eragon in a low voice as he bent over the unconscious assassin. Grabbing the man by the scruff of his neck, he easily hoisted him up and onto his shoulders before turning to Elvina. "How are you?"

"Near deaf but otherwise I am fine," she said dusting off her cloak as she turned to him. "And you?"

"It will take more than a lantern to kill me," said Eragon as he began to walk.

"Where are you heading?"

"Somewhere," he replied turning a sharp eye to her. "If you did not come to join the Varden, then I suggest you take your leave and not bother anyone else."

"Once again, you act very rude despite being a savior," said Elvina with a frown at him.

He did not say anything but continued past her. Then he said in a warning tone, "If I hear that you have done anything," Eragon started to say to her but she merely laughed lightly and he blinked. Her voice sounded so familiar that his head ached trying to match it with another's voice.

"I already told you," said Elvina smiling at him showing him her unnaturally strong white, teeth. "I have no intentions of doing you or the Varden any harm…I just merely find…certain things interesting."

He stared at her for a long moment. "Where will you be staying?" asked Eragon with a frown. He did not like the idea of Elvina walking about the tunnels. He still didn't trust her fully.

"Wherever," she did not elaborate. "Are you perhaps offering…?"

He snorted. No matter how beautiful Elvina was, he would always be devoted to one elf. "No," answered Eragon.

"You will ignore a woman in need?" Elvina asked with a raised brow though she did not appeared to be insulted at his refusal to help her. Instead she appeared as if she humored by his reaction.

He thought about her question for one long moment and then he nodded. "It is not my problem," he turned to leave but then after a moment frowned before saying to Elvina. "I shall be back to look for you in this tunnel whether it be this night or tomorrow. Do not wander too far."

"I give you my word," said Elvina in the ancient language unnerving him once more.

He only frowned but shifted the man on his shoulders and turned to leave feeling Elvina's eyes on his back as he did so.

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**I laughed when I read some reviews that said that they could picture Eragon and Fomora coming together. It was funny and it makes me wonder...In any case, the drama is just going to get started and poor Eragon, he's having troubled trying to juggle things about and now Elvina is going to cause him even more headaches. Oh dear and let's not mention his need to be close to Arya (who seems rather taken by someone else...hmm...). In any case, let's hope that I can finished the next chapter soon! I hope to see you all soon! **


	18. Chapter 18

**Sorry for the long wait everyone but I wasn't really feeling like writing at the moment. I started this chapter Wednesday but I had a rather rough day on Thursday and it made me somewhat restless and anxious. I barely slept a wink on Thursday night. But after Friday, I decided to get my act together and write since it's a pastime that I enjoy greatly. In any case, here is the next chapter. I hope you all enjoy it. R&R. **

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It turned out the assassin did not know anything apart from his one goal—to make an attempt on Eragon's life. It came to a shock to Weldon as well as Irvine, Brom, and Arya when Eragon had presented to them the unconscious body of the man that was the assassin. Staring at the unconscious man that laid in the open space in the center of Weldon's study, Eragon frowned as the others spoke of the possibilities of a spy in their midst. That would be impossible, thought Eragon in slight confusion. The members of Du Gata Vrangr were tasked with searching the minds of all those that were admitted entrance into the Varden. Therefore, it was a slim chance that a spy of Galbatorix's could actually make it past their security.

His brows furrowed. This man must have used an abandoned tunnel to make it to the Varden. There was no other possible conclusion. His thoughts began to wander to Elvina and how it appeared to be too great of a coincidence for her to be there during the assassination attempt. But then again, she had spoken in the ancient language and had not resisted when he went to probe her mind. Despite that, there was something about Elvina that made him cautious and unwilling to trust her. He frowned trying to think of what else it was that threw him about the mysterious woman whom he had met in Aberon.

"What do you think Eragon?" asked Weldon, turning the conversation to him. He blinked n surprised at being addressed and turned to face Weldon. It would be simple to judge the assassination attempt as a lone attempt based on one man, but he did not think that was the case.

"So far, we have little evidence to form any assumptions," said Eragon with a shake of his head. His eyes returned to the assassin. "In any case, the man was not trained well enough to even attempt to scratch me which leads me to believe that he was alone in this matter. Or someone could have used him to achieve a goal of theirs."

He frowned once more thinking of Elvina. _If she caused any trouble…_

There was a groan from the man on the ground, who was bound and drugged. It was a tactic too much like Galbatorix but Eragon had learned better. He knew how to extract information especially from unwilling subjects who would be more willing to throw away their lives than speak. Immediately their attention shifted to the man as he slowly became of aware of where it was that he was lying.

"Who are you?" asked Weldon staring down at the man as he craned his neck about seemingly searching for an escape route.

The man ignored him which was no surprise to Eragon. "Asking him will do us no good," said Brom gruffly shaking his head. He turned his blue eyes to Eragon. "We need to extract the information from him if he is unwillingly."

"Then let me," said Eragon taking a step forward. He crouched slightly, his eyes narrowing as he beheld the man. "Since you are not willing to cooperate with us, I see no wrong in taking that which we need from you by force."

Then without warning, he reached out to the man from many different directions sending sharp tendrils of thought at him. The assassin stiffened in surprise at being attacked but seeing as he was drugged it made it much more difficult for him to defend himself. Watching him struggle for a moment, Eragon smirked slightly. Though he despised his time spent beneath Galbatorix he would not deny the fact that what he'd learned was useful. The man twitched on the ground and seeing this, Eragon pushed forward wrapping his mind about the assassin's. It was unlike how he would do so for Arya. Whenever Arya—in his past life—would feel exhausted he would always wrap his mind about hers like a warm blanket trying to give her energy. Instead, he closed in on the assassin, wrapping about his mind like a python about its prey, pressing and squeezing the life from him.

There was nowhere for the assassin to attempt to hide himself and the more he withdrew within in his own mind, the more Eragon pressed his mind against him until at long last he felt a snap in the man's mental defenses. Stripping the mental walls that he had tried to erect in vain against Eragon's mental attack, Eragon ripped away all of the assassin's defenses until nothing was left.

Entering the man's mind, he began to search through his thoughts. Flashes of a city that appeared to be Dras-Leona, traveling across the Beor Mountains, sneaking about the tunnels underneath Farthen Dûr, he saw all types of memories but nothing stood out to him apart from a rather dark memory in which he saw two figures speaking but he could hear no words nor see any clear images. One he assumed to be the assassin and the other escaped his knowledge. Apart from those memories and thoughts, there was nothing else that was of interest to him.

Frowning, Eragon pulled back staring down at the man before him. That was useless almost. He shook his head, "The man has nothing useful for us. The only memory that appeared to have any value was altered by magic making it hard for me to clearly see what was going about."

"So we can conclude that he is merely a pawn of someone else," said Brom with a frown as he stared down at the man before them. Eragon nodded, standing as he did so. The assassin laid at his feet, his eyes opened and dazed and spittle forming at the corner of his mouth. _Perhaps I have broken him, _thought Eragon turning to Weldon.

"In any case he is of little use to us now," said Eragon with a shake of his head.

"I suppose so," said Weldon with a frown. "I shall have the guards dispose of him."

"If you would," said Eragon inclining his head to Weldon. The four of them continued to speak with Arya remaining silent on the matter unless addressed. Instead, her eyes were focused on the assassin and there was an unreadable expression on her face that Eragon found somewhat unsettling. He did not voice his feelings, however, seeing as they were in the presence of others. Instead, he advised Weldon to take on more guards and another member of the Du Gata Vrangr to better protect himself. They would also have to speak to King Hrothgar about the abandoned tunnels and possibly finding a way to regulate those that used such tunnels for their own purposes.

When they were dismissed, he was about to go searching for Elvina to make sure that she was not stirring trouble only to be stopped by Brom. His father had placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him from walking off. "Eragon," said Brom in a low voice taking a step closer to him. "You must be careful. I have an intuition that it is the Forsworn seeking vengeance."

"The Forsworn?" muttered Eragon.

His father nodded squeezing his shoulder slightly. "Let us meet another day to speak about those traitors that we call Dragon Riders," said Brom in a quiet voice. He nodded to Eragon once more before retracting his hand and turning to leave. Watching his father leave, he stood there for a moment before turning to walk back the way he'd come.

"Eragon," he turned and stopped at the sight of Arya standing by the wall.

"Arya," he greeted her before he found himself slightly worrying. "Are you well? You have not said a word during the meeting."

"I had little else to say," said Arya, her eyes darting to the side before flickering to Eragon. "Are you fine? I heard the explosion from the center of Tronjheim. It did not seem small."

"I am fine," Eragon reassured her. He wanted to say more to her but he did not know what else to say. Instead, he stood there half of him wanting to seek out Elvina and make sure that she was not out wreaking havoc on the Varden. Another part of him wanted to stay and speak with Arya.

"Do you plan on returning to the scene?" asked Arya with a raised brow. He nodded. She frowned for a long moment. Before she spoke, her eyes hard. "I would like to accompany you if that does not bother you, Eragon."

He faltered on the spot for the moment unsure of what to do. If Arya say Elvina what would she say? He thought about it for a moment before he reluctantly nodded. Feeling slightly anxious, the two of them began to make their way to the tunnel where the assassin had made an attempt on his life. Weaving in and out of the tunnel, he kept a close eye on any openings in case of any more unwanted appearances of any assassins about the tunnels. Turning the spot, he frowned at the sight of Elvina leaning against the wall, her arms folded across her chest and her expression thoughtful. At the sound of their footsteps, she turned her head to pin him with a stare, her eyes darting to Arya and back.

She raised a brow at their approach.

"Did you not trust my words that you have sought to bring a companion?" asked Elvina with a raised brow, her piercing sapphire eyes coming to rest on Arya, who lifted her head in return. There was a similarity in the way they regarded each other thought Eragon. There was a mixture of pride and caution as their eyes beheld one another and for a split second he regretted bringing Arya with him if Elvina was going to be deliberately rude.

"I suppose you can say that," said Eragon watching as she frowned at him. "There is little for me to go on to trust you fully."

"And bringing your elf companion will make it so that you feel more comfortable in my presence?" She smirked slightly. "I thought you handled yourself well, especially against the assassin from earlier. Apparently you seem to think so little of yourself in the face of a woman."

"You are much different from a normal woman," said Eragon. He blinked when Elvina merely offered him a smile as if mocking his words. He turned his head to Arya, "This is Elvina, a woman whom I met in Aberon. Apparently, she had decided to follow the Varden back to Farthen Dûr."

"I see," she sounded troubled but she did not voice more on it. He glanced at her expression feeling slightly restless at the way her brows furrowed.

"I see the two of you mirror each other rather well," said Elvina when they both made no move to speak. She unfolded her arms, turning her head to gaze at them. "It would be proper manners to introduce yourself once someone was introduced to you, elf."

Eragon bristled on the spot at Elvina's tone while Arya merely frowned. "My name is Arya," she said simply, her tone cold as ice. He had forgotten that Arya could be rather forceful and harsh seeing as he had always never been subjected to such a voice apart from the first time he had met her. She paused before she continued. "Why are you here?"

"I find him interesting," Elvina nodded towards Eragon. He sighed, reaching a hand up to rub his face. Things were never so simple it seemed. "There is no other reason to my being here." If anything, Arya's expression became even more severe as she regarded Elvina. It seemed as if her reason—if one could call it that—did not bode well with the elven princess, who had been exiled from her mother's presence due to her dedication to their cause.

Not waiting for this encounter to turn ugly, Eragon turned to Arya placing a hand on her shoulder. She tilted her head to the side slightly to stare up at him questioningly. "I can handle Elvina, Arya. You are busy and needed by the others."

Her rosy red lips pursed but she nodded, a quick jerk of her head, before turning and slinking away. When she had turned a corner and disappeared, Eragon turned back to Elvina to find her observing him with a slight smirk. "What is she to you, Eragon? Your mate?"

"Do not make assumptions," said Eragon warningly. "You will offend someone."

"You do not appear offended," Elvina pointed out as he made his way to her.

"Even though I do not appear to be, you should be careful of what you say," said Eragon with a frown bothered by how Elvina had asked of him such a question. Almost reflexively he was about to nod his head but had caught himself at the last moment. In his heart, Arya had always been his mate but to deny it by word of mouth bothered him. "Especially here within the Varden."

"I am curious of something," said Elvina as Eragon stopped directly before her. "Why is it that you have joined the Varden? I had thought you would be hiding like the rest of your people. That is what they say in any case."

"And why should I hide?" asked Eragon with one raised brow, challenging Elvina's words.

"Do you need me to say it for you?" asked Elvina appearing somewhat exasperated at his words, her blue eyes flashing. "Does the name Galbatorix not mean anything to you? The Forsworn? Durza?"

"No," said Eragon watching as her blue eyes widened just slightly to show her surprise at his words. "Do they mean something to you? You come from Surda, do you not? Why would Galbatorix or the Forsworn bother you? He has left your country untouched in his own thirst to cement his power over his dominion."

She scoffed. "Even though he does not appeared interested, he is always watching. Surda is weak compared to the Empire. There is no chance of the monarchy standing their own if Galbatorix and his Forsworn came down upon them, seeking their kingdom. He is only lulling them into a false sense of security and you know as well as I do that the thirst for more never truly dies, no matter how much is gained. In the end, everyone wants more than they have. It is the nature of all that is living."

"It is of animals," said Eragon with a frown as he let Elvina's words wash over him. "In any case, if his hunger is not satiated then all one has to do is staunch the source of it."

"You cannot kill Galbatorix," said Elvina bitterly. "He is too strong."

"If he is born to this world than he can die make no mistake," said Eragon. He paused, lifting his eyes to the blackened area where the lantern had exploded earlier. "No one lives forever that is the truth of the matter. Death is the natural course of life, it is true of all things."

"Are you prepared then?" her blue eyes flashed as she leaned her head back to stare at him, holding his gaze in hers. "To sacrifice your life? To die?"

_I had thought I knew that question well, _thought Eragon as he held Elvina's gaze refusing to back down. "Even if I had an answer to your question, I shall not tell you freely," said Eragon watching as an expression of frustration passed over her features. "In any case, I will admit to you that I am a selfish person."

"Your answers are only circles among circles," said Elvina with a frown. "It is irritating to listen to."

"Then do not," said Eragon. "You can simply leave."

She scoffed, bringing a hand up to sweep several strands of her from her face. There was a glint of silver on her finger. Eyes darting to the source, he caught sight of a silver band on her right forefinger. The ring was simple but there was the intricate design of leaves that was etched into its surface.

"I did not travel here to merely be shown the door so soon," said Elvina. "I would like to stay if only for a while."

"And what will you do here?" asked Eragon. "You are not a refugee seeking shelter away from the Empire. Nor are you here to join in the fighting, I presume. You would have been much better off remaining in Aberon, than following our forces to the Beor Mountains."

"Do I sense a slight concern coming from you?" asked Elvina, blue eyes gleaming.

He snorted. "I do not have the time nor resources to be concerned about you but what you do here certainly is my concern. So let me ask you once more, what do you plan on accomplishing by joining the Varden?"

"Does it matter in the end? What difference would one human make in the grander scheme of things?" asked Elvina.

He paused somewhat bewildered at her condescending tone. He had never heard a person belittle their race before and yet her words rang true. There is little a human could do in the face of Galbatorix and his might. They were too weak and fragile to hold their own against Galbatorix or a Forsworn. After a long moment, he sighed. _It is not as if I do not already have enough to keep me busy for the next decade and now I have to deal with this. _

"Then as long as you swear to me that you will not cause the Varden any trouble while you remain here and that you will not reveal the location of Farthen Dûr and anything that happens here than I shall allow you to stay," said Eragon. She seemed to glare up at him at his request and before she could speak or protest he continued. "Do so in the ancient language as well since you seem to have a grasp of it."

A long moment passed and when it appeared as if Elvina was going to deny him, she nodded. Expression rather frosty, she spoke slowly in the ancient language as if she was having a hard time getting the words out of her mouth. Eventually when she was done, Eragon nodded satisfied. "Then let us go," said Eragon turning to lead her towards Tronjheim.

He was not surprised to see her easily keep pace with his long strides and was content to remain silent before Elvina spoke once more. "Why is that elf woman—"

"Her name is Arya," said Eragon with a frown. "Do not make it seem like you do not remember her name."

"—here?" Elvina finished acting as if he had not spoken in the first place.

"That is not my place to tell you," said Eragon adamantly refusing to tell Elvina anything about Arya that pertained to her personal life. "She had made her decision to become the elven ambassador to the people that is all."

"Is that so? You sound like you know more about her," observed Elvina, showing how perceptive she could be.

"Whether or not I know more about Arya is no concern of yours, Elvina," said Eragon. "In any case, I shall tell you this. Arya is someone that is admirable in deed and determined to our cause. If you come across her, you should not intentionally seek to be rude. It is unbecoming."

Her eyes flashed as she glared at him but she did not say anything else for a long moment. After walking from tunnel to tunnel, they eventually reached the hallway that he was seeking. "Where are you taking me?" asked Elvina with a frown as Eragon walked up to a wooden door stopping before it.

Rather than answer her, he lifted his fist and gently rapped on the door. It was silent for a moment before he heard the sound of the latch being lifted and it was pulled open to reveal Rosalie. Her expression showed her surprise at the sight of Eragon before her.

"Eragon," she said somewhat shocked, her emerald eyes sliding to Elvina. Like Arya, her brows instantly furrowed at the sight of the hauntingly beautiful woman. Her emerald eyes flickered between him and Elvina before she opened her mouth, speaking slowly as if trying to gauge the situation herself. "Is something wrong?"

"I know that it is rude of me to burden you with all the help that you have given me these past few years Rosalie," Eragon began as he heard Elvina cough slightly, her expression showing her disbelief at how polite he was being. "However, a situation has uninvitingly forced its way into our midst."

"What is it?" asked Rosalie alarmed at his words. "Should we not inform Weldon so that he could maneuver our forces?"

"It is nothing like that," said Eragon putting her fears to ease. Seeing Rosalie's confused expression, he began to elaborate. "I was hoping if you could watch Elvina," he gestured to the woman by his side. "For a few days—a week at most until she becomes used to living with the Varden."

"Elvina?" Rosalie turned to the woman in general. Elvina merely inclined her head to the redhead woman.

Eragon nodded. "If it is not too much trouble to ask that is."

She was quiet for a moment before she slowly nodded. "No it is not, it is only for a few days in any case."

He smiled at Rosalie in gratitude. "Thank you Rosalie," said Eragon watching as she seemed to flush slightly, her emerald eyes appearing to shine as she gazed up at him. "She shall be staying in the empty room adjacent to yours."

"Of course," said Rosalie while Elvina merely waited with an annoyed expression on her face, looking rather indignant at being treated like a child. _I still do not trust her entirely, _said Eragon. The part that was Arya within him, agreed with his thoughts only serving to give him more reason as to not to blindly trust in Elvina despite her actions. _There is something about her that reminds me too much of another that I cannot shake. _

"Ah, Eragon," he blinked when Rosalie spoke once more. "Angela was asking for your presence earlier. She said she would like to speak with you."

"I shall go see to her," promised Eragon turning to leave. But before he did, he made sure to pin Elvina with a serious gaze. "Remember your promise to me."

"All too well," she murmured.

He nodded and after thanking Rosalie once more, turned and left. _Now what could that witch want with me? _Ever since Angela had joined the Varden, she had made it a point of hers to try and extract information for him. So far, she had been rather unsuccessful in her quest to do so. But she knew, more so than anyone else, that there was something about Eragon that was unusual or strange.

Pushing the door to her rather secret room open, he blinked sidestepping a flying squirrel that seemed to be rabid. "What on earth are you doing?" asked Eragon once Angela had managed to contain the creature, which seemed to be giving her more of a fight than it should.

"If you must know," said Angela placing the squirrel in a metal cage and slamming the cage atop a table that was surprisingly cleared of her strange instruments which littered the room. "I am trying to test the properties of crushed moonstones and a rather delightful red mushroom that I found in one of the dwarves' gardens."

"And what have you learned?" asked Eragon wearily as he stepped up to the cage to observe the squirrel which chittered nervously as if unable to stand still.

"That it makes for a dangerous creature," said Angela tossing her brushy hair. She turned to observe him, her eyes bright. "You look like you just had a visit with a windstorm."

"Do I now?" muttered Eragon reaching up to touch his very messy and windswept hair—a result from the tremendous explosion from one of the flameless lanterns. He glanced around searching for Solembum and was only slightly surprised to not find the werecat about.

When he asked, Angela merely waved away his concerns. "He is wandering about Tronjheim in search of some rather curious objects to collect."

"I hope you did not tell him that stealing is a viable method to do so," said Eragon with narrowed eyes as he watched Angela bustle about. She did not even blink an eye at his words. In fact it appeared as if she had not even heard him in the first place. He watched her in amusement before she stopped glancing up at him.

"Did you say something?"

"I did but it was nothing important," said Eragon. "Now, may I ask you what is it that you needed me for that you found important? Or did you simply call me here to try and see if I can be outdone by a rabid squirrel?" He stared at the rather blood hungry creature for a moment coming to a decision. He would keep Arya away from Angela for the moment. If she saw what the witch did to the squirrel, she would no doubt be upset.

"I was wondering if you would ask," said Angela as she continued to search her secret room.

"If it is another list that you have for me, I am afraid that I cannot act as your personal errand boy," said Eragon suspicious of what it was that the curly haired witch could possibly seek from him. "I am rather busy at the moment."

"I know," said Angela nodding. "It is no secret that you killed a Forsworn and his dragon. Aegnor, was it?"

"Yes," said Eragon with a frown.

"Word has it that you were able to kill him and his dragon with Brom's help," Angela stopped, turning her eyes to him. "It is surprising that Brom was successful in his endeavors to slowly pluck off the members of the Forsworn. The lot of them are rabid creatures I tell you.

The cage rattled as the squirrel fought to free itself, now foaming from the mouth. "You find it odd that Brom would succeed?"

"Perhaps you should ask him that question yourself when you the get the chance to," said Angela gesturing for him to take a seat in the cushioned armchair before a circular table of hers on which a thick red fabric covered. Rummaging about, he watched as she returned holding a deep purple silk pouch in her hands and instantly he felt a sense of apprehension overwhelm him as Angela took a seat before him. "Now before you say anything, I would like your word that you would not react _passionately_."

"My word?" repeated Eragon, his caution doubled.

"Yes your word," said Angela.

He stared at her for a long moment before he nodded. She pulled open the drawstring pouch and upturned the contents inside to reveal slim bones, each slightly longer than a finger. He blinked staring at the shape of the bones and the smoothness of them. They did not seem old and they did not seem as if they belonged to a regular animal. Staring at it for a moment longer, Eragon blinked in surprise turning his wide eyes on Angela.

"You took the dragon's knucklebones?" asked Eragon stunned. Of course, he was not as shocked when in his future Angela had read his fortune using dragon knucklebones but now he was beside himself. He had always known that she must have retrieved the bones by some means but he had not expected that she would take them from the dragon he had killed.

"Yes well, I did not want to let the body go to waste," said Angela with a frown. "It was either I preserved a part of Aegnor's dragon or let the vultures tend to it."

For a moment, he thought about Saphira and the idea of someone cutting out her knucklebones did not sit well with him. At his frown she huffed.

"Oh alright, I understand how you feel seeing as you…well…" she cleared her throat and continued. "It is not as if I can _return _these from where I retrieved them. So I might as well make good use of them if that makes the situation any better."

"Angela," said Eragon with a stern look. "No more stealing after this."

"This hardly constitutes as stealing," at his dark glare, she rolled her eyes. "Fine, but remember that stealing is rather loosely defined."

"Loosely?" he snorted. "It is taking something that does not belong to you." He pointed to the knucklebones.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "If you are done lecturing me, Eragon," Angela began returning his attention to the situation at hand, "I called you here because I wanted to see something for myself and you're the only person that I am willing to do this for."

He felt his blood chilled at her words. "And what is that?"

"I wish to tell your fortune," said Angela with gleaming eyes, a serious aura surrounding her for once. He blinked and suddenly fear gripped at him. If she casted the bone for him, would his fortune have changed? _Of course it has, _thought Eragon feeling his heart tighten, _I have gone back in time and changed history. The stones are set and now the wheels are turning with my actions. _

But what would he do if his fortune was changed. What if when Angela casted the bones, it showed that he no longer had Arya's love? That he would not be born and become a Rider? He fought the shudder that wanted to run its course through his body. _What if I still die? _

"These," she said, touching them gently, "knucklebones hold much magic even if the dragon that they belonged to no longer lives in this world. Unlike tea leaves, crystal balls, or even divining cards, these have true power. They do not lie, though understanding what they say is…complicated. If you wish, I will cast and read them for you. But understand that to know one's fate can be a terrible thing. You must be sure of your decision."

"Is this out of your own curiosity?" asked Eragon trying to buy himself some time before he made his decision. He knew his future, he knew his life. But now, with Angela offering to read his fortune once more, he found himself hesitating, afraid of what he was going to see.

"Part of it is," said Angela, her expression somber. "But I am doing this out of respect for our friendship Eragon. I have known you for only a few years but you have proven that you are more than what you claim to be. Think of what I am asking you and then make your decision. To know your future can cripple your present."

He nodded closing his eyes as he thought. _I did it before, _thought Eragon, _but that was before I already lived my life. I am not even born in this time yet. I am merely an anomaly in the folds of the world, one that should not exist. Is there a future for me? _Thinking hard for a moment, he thought of Saphira, Arya, and all those whom he came to cherish in his time. He had to be strong for them and knowing his future could serve to strengthen him even more. Taking in a deep breath, he nodded opening his eyes to face Angela with a grim expression.

"Cast the bones for me, Angela."

Angela's face became grave as she grasped the bones in each hand. Her eyes closed, and her lips moved in a soundless murmur. Then she said powerfully, _"Manin! Wyrda!_ _Hugin!" _and tossed the bones onto the cloth. He watched as they tumbled through the air, gleaming in the dim light of one of her oil lamps before they fell to the table the remnants of Angela's ringing voice fading as he waited for her to read him his fortune.

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**I don't think I leave that much cliffhangers (at least in my view). Even in RL, I don't think there were that many cliffhangers in the plot line but more of like a wrapping up of the chapters at the end. In this story, however, I'm going to try and incorporate more cliffhangers since suspense is always a fun factor to building up the climax in a story. There'll be all types of cliffhangers like romance cliffhangers, plot line cliffhangers, or one just like the one at the end of this chapter. It's fun...and oh, I think I may have strained my big toe on my left feet. It hurts to put even the slightest weight on it. I've been confined to my bed almost all day today which is more reason for me to finish this chapter. In any case, I hope a good night's sleep would at least dull the stinging pain. See you all soon! **


	19. Chapter 19

**The last chapter that ends this particular time jump sequence in TMF. The next chapter there will be another time jump so that it doesn't seem as if TMF is going at a snail's pace. (It's already at +100k words!) I feel like this story may top RL but I'm still contemplating whether or not I want to branch this story out into different stories or keep it as one. Each has its own merits I guess. In any case, huzzah for this chapter and its completion! And to answer the question of my big toe, I fell sideways and in an attempt to right myself put my entire weight on my left toe and that seemed to strain it but now it's feeling better. Hardly any pain (but still enough to make wearing sneakers quite painful!). In any case R&R! **

* * *

He waited watching as Angela bent over the table to observe the knucklebones with a frown. A long moment passed in which she stared at them before her eyes widened and she straightened to pierce him with such a surprised look he fought the urge to turn about wondering if some sort of vile creature was behind him. He waited for her to speak, raising a brow when she continued to stare at him her mouth slightly gaping open causing her to resemble a fish out of water.

"What is it Angela?" asked Eragon becoming rather annoyed at her lack of words.

"Your fortune…" she spoke in a croaking voice as if suddenly rather shaken from the inside. He blinked caught off guard at such a response from Angela. He had never seen her lack her usual self-confidence and mischief.

"What about it?" he waited, feeling his heart pound in his chest as Angela shook her head.

"There is nothing," she said in disbelief gesturing to the knucklebones. Confusion swept over him as he glanced downwards at the table and the knucklebones. What he saw made his eyes widen. All of the bones were blank. There was no sailing ship, no crescent moon, or symbol that represented longevity. There was nothing. He stared at the bones, feeling a wave of disbelief and desperation wash over him. If the bones portrayed nothing did that mean that he did not have a future? That his future was none existent?

"Are you sure these are the knucklebones of a dragon?" asked Eragon his eyes darting upwards to stare at Angela.

"Would you like me to show you the memory of how I retrieved them?" asked Angela, her expression borderlined affront as if she was insulted that he would question her. "I did not lie when I told you that they are, these bones do not lie nor do they cheat. What it says or doesn't is the truth of the matter."

"And what does it say?" asked Eragon with a frown, almost regretting that he had asked Angela to cast the bones for him. "Why doesn't it show anything? Why are all the bones blank? Is it not supposed to show me my future?"

"The bones did what they were meant to do," said Angela her eyes coming to rest on him, her mouth downturned. "They were meant to divulge your future and they did. It is not the knucklebones that are the reason as to why nothing appears, it is you Eragon. Your future is void of all things meaning that one, you are not truly living but seeing as I do not believe in haunting spirits and that you are certainly tangible I shall disregard that fact."

"And what are your other guesses?" asked Eragon wearily.

Angela glanced about hesitantly as if cautious of being overheard and leaned in closer to him, saying in a low voice. "You do not belong to this world."

He stared at her for a long moment making sure that his face was expressionless. Angela continued to look at him with an expression that said that she had uncovered a great mystery which soon turned into curiosity when Eragon made no move to speak. "Well?" prompted Angela after letting the silence settle in the room for some time.

"What would you have me say?" asked Eragon with a raised brow.

"If you would be as kind as to say yea or nay to my assumption that would be a start," Angela waited patiently for him to speak. He sighed, reaching forward to pick up one of the knucklebones studying it intently. He trusted Angela, there was no doubt about that fact and he knew that the witch would not use any valuable information for her own gain. But yet a part of him was afraid of her judgment. What would Angela say if she found out that he was tampering with time due to his own selfishness to live, even if it was for the better?

"Do you believe in life after death, Angela?" asked Eragon ignoring her question.

Frowning, Angela sat back to regard him with a hard expression before slowly speaking. "I cannot deny that there _isn't _a life after death but I have no evidence to confidently say that there is but…perhaps there is a spiritual world after death—another Alagaësia perhaps."

He nodded, rolling the knucklebone between his fingers. "Have you ever thought about changing the future?"

"By looking into it you mean?" asked Angela. He nodded watching as she shook her head. "That is impossible. It takes too much energy to try and see into the future. The most one could come close is by having premonitions—visions of the futures by dreaming not by summoning it with magic. And I dare not try to do so. There have been many accomplished magicians who have fallen prey to the mysteries of time and I do not intend to join their ranks."

"Then perhaps the past?"

"Still impossible," she narrowed her eyes at him. "What is the purpose behind all of these questions? I had thought you would be more interested in seeking answers as to why your future is devoid of all things. But rather you are sitting before me asking me of my opinion of time. I do not see how that pertains to you in the least."

"Perhaps I have overestimated you Angela," said Eragon lowering the knucklebone to the table as he leaned back to regard the curly haired witch. "I had always believed that you would solve anything if you used all of your efforts to do so. Clearly that is not the case here."

"Is that an insult?" asked Angela her eyes narrowed, her expression indignant.

"No, a mere thought on my part," he turned his head to stare at the caged squirrel feeling his lips pull at the corners. After a long moment, he turned back to Angela to find her staring at him with a perplexed expression. "Would you like more time Angela? Or perhaps you are going to sit there and stare at me—"

"You've done it," Angela breathed in disbelief as she stared at him.

"Done what?" He asked a part of him already knowing that Angela had finally pieced it together. The shock and incredulity on her face spoke volumes. He waited for her to continue, to say something but she merely stared at him for a lack of better words.

After a long moment she spoke.

"Time, you're changing time," Angela said looking as if she was finally seeing him for the first time. "I had always thought your personality was different from others but I disregarded that as a part of your culture but it was more. It was always more it seems."

"What was always more?" asked Eragon quietly.

"The way you seem to know how to speak to Rosalie, how you advise Weldon, how you train the Varden, how you interact with Brom," said Angela listing off various examples, her words tumbling from her lips as she seemed to make connections that she'd overlooked. "And there's the way you always seem to hover over the elven ambassador—"

"Her name is Arya," Eragon reminded Angela with a frown.

"—constantly looking out for her when no one else is watching, rarely ever rude when you are to everyone else, looking like a starved pup—"

"I beg your pardon?" asked Eragon as he stared at Angela in disbelief but she ignored him and continued to mutter to herself, the gears turning in her mind as she stared at the knucklebones, her eyes far off.

"—almost as if you want to sweep her off her feet, very mutinous when others portray any sort of interest, spending ungodly hours—"

"Are you done insulting me?" asked Eragon annoyed.

"It all makes sense," said Angela ignoring his annoyance as if he was not even sitting before her. Then nearly startling him from his seat, she slammed both palms flat on the table, her eyes large. Chest heaving, she spoke the one sentence that he both dreaded and wanted to hear. "You have traveled into the past. You have somehow managed to cross the barriers of time and transpose your physical body into the past. You've managed something that not even the greatest of magicians could ever seek to accomplish." Her expression suddenly grew curious. "How did you do it?"

"I did not," said Eragon holding Angela's gaze. "It was a favor that I had asked of someone and they granted it to me," when Angela opened her mouth to protect, he shook his head. "Nothing more."

"You will not deny it then? That you come from a different time?" Angela pressed.

He did not say anything and his silence seemed to have confirmed Angela's suspicions. She stared at him at a loss for words before glancing down at the blank knucklebones. "Let me ask one more question since you are prone to not giving answers freely," said Angela, her expression morphing into one that was somber and grave. "Have you been born yet?"

Closing his eyes, Eragon sighed before he shook his head.

There was a flash of light before he found himself falling from his chair, coughing slightly as he stared up at Angela with an incredulous expression. Reaching up to touch his lip, he was surprised to pull his hand back to find dark red liquid staining his skin. "Did you just attack me?" asked Eragon in surprise.

Angela stood over him, her expression dark before she sighed. "I would do more than just knock you in the mouth with my fist but you have more to worry on your plate than an irate witch. Just think of that as me scolding you for risking your existence."

His initial anger at her physical attack was instantly diminished as he listened to her words and he knew that Angela, in her own strange and violent way, cared about him as the friend she proclaimed that he was to her. Merely sitting on the ground, he sighed when he felt the caress of Arya's magic against his bleeding lip.

"Why does your body seem to heal itself?" asked Angela. "You never really explained it and I doubt that it could be your _largest _secret yet seeing as traveling back in time weighs rather _heavily_ on the mind, you know."

"It is personal," said Eragon refusing to budge on his decision to keep his bond between him and Arya a secret. Angela merely huffed before letting the matter aside. She was silent for a moment before she spoke again.

"Why did you travel back?" asked Angela curiously. "Did the world end?"

"For someone who rarely ever answers my question, you certainly have quite a few for me," said Eragon staring at Angela in amusement finding a least some sort of humor from her questioning him. He was torn between relief and disorientation from how easily she was cooperating with him. He had thought she would have reacted much differently. _Though I was not expecting to be socked in the jaw, _said Eragon thinking back to how quick the witch had caused him to tumble from his seat with a well planted fist to his mouth.

"Yes, well, contrary to popular belief, I don't know _everything. _What I do not know, I ask about," said Angela with a shrug of her shoulders. "It is as simple as that."

"I suppose."

"Then will you answer me?"

He sighed before saying in a low tone, "I died and I was granted a second chance to right things."

"You _died?_"

He nodded watching as Angela began to pace back and forth seemingly trying to wrap her mind about the concept. She was muttering to herself for quite some time before she let forth a shout of triumph. "What is it?" asked Eragon glancing at her as if she had lost her mind.

"That would explain the knucklebones," said Angela hurriedly as she made her way to the table picking up a slim, smooth bone between her fingers to examine. Her eyes darted to him and then away.

"What do you mean?" asked Eragon in confusion.

"What I mean is that since you have yet to be born, the dragon knucklebones are unable to read your future," said Angela, nodding to herself. "You said you had died and was sent back as a favor from _someone…_which leads me to believe that you are not really a part of this world. You are not really here, Eragon."

"What are you talking about?" he asked tiredly his mind beginning to form a migraine at her roundabout way of explanation.

She set the knucklebone down and instead turned to caged squirrel walking over to observe it through the slim bars. "You are like this squirrel," she said pointing to the cage. Eragon stared at her feeling insulted that she found him comparable to a rabid animal. "Take a look at this squirrel for a moment Eragon. It exists but it is caged off from the world—isolated by these bars. What is to say that whatever magic that brought you here doesn't work in the same fashion? What if theoretically you never traveled back in time but just crossed dimensions?"

He blinked, digesting her words trying to get a feel of what she was saying. A part of him understood where Angela was heading with her words but a great majority of him was bewildered. "Meaning?"

"Meaning that instead of traveling years back in time, the folds of this world was ripped so that it could accompany your presence," explained Angela. "You would still exist here but you would be isolated from us—still connected to your world. Perhaps with this tear in planes, not one but two worlds of Alagaësia exist."

"You are saying that I am the connection between my Alagaësia and this one?" asked Eragon with brows furrowed. If what Angela said was true than that would mean that the time he'd spent in this Alagaësia, another one was marching at the same pace—another one in which his loved ones were living without him.

"Exactly!" she began to pace about, "And then when the convergence happens in which point both worlds of Alagaësia approaches a fixed point, the old Alagaësia—yours—would disappear as if it had never existed."

"And what is this fixed point?" asked Eragon his mind racing to try and piece together Angela's explanation. It was impressive how Angela could suddenly construct a theory as to his time travel when she only had a few moments to think about it when he had nearly three decades.

"Your death and birth," said Angela gravely turning her head to him. "What would happen Eragon is that if you live and hypothetically speaking of course, you are born in this Alagaësia as according to time and circumstance, you will create a paradox. There will be an imbalance in between the two worlds see, you are dead in your Alagaësia—the one you came from. While in this Alagaësia, two of you exist. Therefore, once you are born this paradox will continue to grow and it will only cease when you die."

"And when I die, the Alagaësia that I come from will also die with me," murmured Eragon, feeling a great weight press down on him. Even if Angela's theory wasn't proven yet, even if it was all mere speculation there was nothing for him to base his time traveling on apart from Angela's spontaneous thoughts.

"Theoretically speaking it will," said Angela as she poked the stem of a mushroom through the bars of the cage that the squirrel was trapped in, its teeth clanging against the metal loudly as it tried to chew itself free. "However, if you look at it from another perspective, it does not mean that the world that you come from dies, it just means that it never existed in the first place. Remember, this theory only holds any sort of validity if we are to assume that you did not time travel but you merely traveled between dimensions which of course is odd to say because in a sense this is time traveling no matter how you look at it but just not in the way that we believe it to be…oh, and now I've confused you it seems."

"You have," muttered Eragon rubbing his face tiredly. "What would happen if I live past the fixed point? If I still existed here and my other self was born?"

"What else would happen? There will be two of you here therefore creating a paradox when only one Eragon should exist," said Angela tapping her chin thoughtfully. "If we were to talk about the magnitude of what this paradox would create we will be talking about the entirety of magic becoming distorted for on one hand we have you—Eragon," her eyes darted to him and she lifted a hand to emphasize her statement. "And on the other we also have Eragon but the one that has yet to born."

"So what you are saying is that I have to die in order to right the world?" asked Eragon.

"If we are going with my theory than yes," said Angela, she hurried forward. "However, that is yet to be seen. I was just rambling and there is little evidence to show that my words hold any actual weight. For all we know, I could be wrong."

"I am nothing more than an anomaly then," murmured Eragon picking himself off of the floor to return to his seat. He sat there with his fingers interlaced trying to wrap his mind about the idea that Angela had proposed. If what she said was correct in theory than his existence in this Alagaësia was the reason for the split in worlds. What if his Alagaësia still existed? What if Arya, Saphira, and his family were living without him? Staring down at the table before him he took in the blank knucklebones.

_I have no future—not in this world, _thought Eragon sadly.

"You are taking this in rather well," said Eragon eventually as he observed Angela as she began to bustle about. He watched as she created a fire with magic underneath a black pot in which she began to pour ingredients into. "I had thought you would be tying me to a table to dissect me."

"You aren't that interesting," said Angela simply. "And besides, why would I want to dissect you? I know perfectly well how the male anatomy works—and do not dare ask me how. In any case, I had always thought you were strange and _otherworldly_ if I do say so myself."

"What were your guesses?" asked Eragon curiously.

"That you were a Shade in disguise or that you were the spirit of an Urgal come back to bring justice to his—" at his incredulous expression she stopped. "Yes well, you didn't give me much to work with so if you are dissatisfied with my other theories, I apologize."

He chuckled humorlessly. "If there was one thing I could count on, it was the fact that you would always react differently from others and yet always the same."

"Is that so?" She blinked, peering at him from where she stood over the pot. "Tell me, did you know me in the other Alagaësia? In your Alagaësia?"

"I knew you but not like how I know you now but then again, what did anyone know about you apart from your name, your appearance, and your strange disposition?" answered Eragon lifting the knucklebones to toss them gently onto the table watching as the smooth objects fell. "Strange how time works. But in a way, it makes sense."

"Circles upon circles of questions and yet no answers," said Angela shaking her head as she lifted a ladle to stir whatever it was that she was cooking.

He nodded agreeing with her completely. "I suppose it was because of my own selfishness that this happened and it is only fair that in the end, I atone for it," Eragon said leaning back in his chair and letting his eyes roam Angela's secret room. "Not much else can be done now. I have wished it and now I must pay for it."

"But you knew it was never going to be easy, didn't you?" asked Angela quietly.

"I knew."

She was silent and didn't say anymore leaving him to his thoughts for he was grateful. Instead he merely sat there trying to think of a world without him and Galbatorix. If what Angela was saying was true and the Alagaësia he came from still existed…_Murtagh or Arya would have become the new leader of the Riders. Nasuada would become queen of the Empire. Ella would be a grown woman by now with her own family. And Saphira…Saphira…_

He stopped unable to continued thinking about his beautiful dragon. He did not know how Saphira could deal with the grief of losing him. If her pain was anything like Arya's or even more, it would have no doubt crippled her. Then thinking back on it, the same thing could be said for Arya—who had given part of her soul to him. Was a part of him still living within her? Was that piece of his soul giving her solace and comfort when he was not there?

"Here," he glanced up when Angela placed a bowl before him in which a white creamy soup rested in, steam coming from the liquid. "You looked hungry and I doubt you have yet to eat since you came here. You've had a busy day after all."

"I do not think I am hungry," murmured Eragon ready to decline the offered meal.

Angela merely glared at him as she gestured to the wooden spoon. "Humor me," she said. "It is not often that I cook for someone else and when I do it is a thing of beauty. You will never taste soup as fine as this."

He snorted already thinking of the best soup he'd ever tasted in his life and that was the one that Arya had cooked for him once when he was sick with a fever. Picking up his wooden spoon, he scooped up a spoonful and ate it letting the warm and delicious taste flood his sense before he swallowed. It made him feel slightly better but only slightly. "Thank you," said Eragon sincerely as he continued to eat.

Angela merely waved it off before she spoke, "I am somewhat surprised that you haven't made me swear an oath of secrecy or whatnot seeing as I know such a vital piece of information regarding you. You are not someone who gives answers away freely from the time I've spent with you."

"I trust that you would not go about saying my personal life to others," said Eragon eating another spoonful. "You were never one to divulge someone else's life or information to others. That is just how you are as a person."

"Perhaps," agreed Angela.

Turning his head to the side, he stared at the caged squirrel for a long moment before he continued eating. Little else was said as the two of them sat there deep in their own thoughts and when it was time for them to part ways, he could not help but admit that he was glad. Though a part of him was relieved in the fact that Angela now shared in his burdens, another part of he found the idea of someone else truly knowing him for who he was as strange. He had been so used to being known as Eragon, the elf-rider who had joined the Varden and not as anyone else. It was almost as if he had found himself once more after such a long time of wandering. Shaking his head, he was about to make his way back to his room before he stopped.

He did not want to be bothered today. He did not want to go back to find a stack of scrolls waiting for him to read or reports about anything to do with Galbatorix. Instead he turned away and began to wander from tunnel to tunnel not really seeking out any precise location but just willing for his feet to take him somewhere.

Eventually he found himself in a wide area in which he saw several dwarves at working mining precious and valuable ores from the ground. Nodding to them as he passed, he took a seat on a barrel out of the way of their work and sat there observing them. The dwarves did not seem to mind his presence least he did not interrupt their line of duty. Sitting there, he watched them go about their business.

They left him to his own devices and he was content to merely watch them until his eyes caught sight of an open barrel beside him that was filled to the brink with fine sand. Blinking at the sight of the white grain that appeared to be from the Hadarac Desert, he reached over and touched the sand feeling the softness of it against his finger.

Staring at the material for a long moment, he blinked when a thought came to him. Gently cupping a great deal of sand in his hand, he began to murmur lowly in the ancient language watching as the grains of sand in his hand began to glow a burning red but not actually harming him. Using a series of spells, he watched as the sand began to shift in his eyes until at long last a beautiful hourglass rested in his hands in which sand fell slowly from the near full top half of the hourglass. _Time, _thought Eragon watching the sand for a long moment.

"What a strange concept," murmured Eragon as he eyed the hourglass. Letting the grains of sand shift through the glass, he sat there doing nothing else and making no attempt to. Just this one moment of reprieve was enough. He did not want to think of the assassination attempt, of Elvina, of his lack of a future, and of Angela's disheartening theory. He merely sat there letting his thoughts flow and not thinking of anything in particular.

And he sat there until the dwarves had gone late into the night merely leaving him there to sit and ponder his thoughts. His eyes darted to the hourglass in his hands. Only half of the sand had managed to make its way to the bottom half of the hourglass and nothing more. Tapping his fingers against the glass that he had made from his magic, he sighed. _What was time? _Closing his eyes for a moment, he opened them to glance about the empty area devoid of any living creature apart from him. _Isolate from this world…it does sound like my life now. I do not belong here. I didn't need you to tell me that for me to understand, Angela. _

"Eragon?"

He blinked glancing to his left to find Arya standing off to the side in front of the entrance to the tunnel that she had just stepped out from. He stared at her, his eyes wide. He had next expected her to be out here at so late a time. Apparently, she was not expecting the same of him either for her face also showed the surprise that he felt.

"Arya, what are you doing here?" asked Eragon as she made her way over to him, stopping beside where he sat atop the barrel, hourglass in hand.

"I was merely wandering the halls of Farthen Dûr without much thought in mind and my feet carried me here," explained Arya, her eyes taking his appearance in. He watched as her expression turned slightly worrying. "And you? What are you doing here?"

"I just wanted a moment of solitude that was all," said Eragon honestly watching as Arya gracefully lowered herself onto the barrel beside him.

"Quite much has happened today that perhaps a moment alone would do you much good," said Arya, her emerald eyes flickering to the hourglass in his hands before they turned back to him. The moment their eyes met, he felt guilt overwhelm him. Not for the first time since he'd seen Arya, he was ashamed to face her. Compared to Arya, he was weak. So very weak in face of her strong determinism and courage. He had wanted a second life because he couldn't stand the thought of being torn away from her and Saphira and his loved ones and in payment for his wish, he was sacrificing his Alagaësia.

Averting his eyes, he shifted the hourglass in his hands. _And now I've become a spineless coward who can't even face Arya anymore, _Eragon thought to himself bitterly as he sat there unable to lift his head. The two of them were quiet for some time and it seemed as if Arya was merely there to offer him her silent support, both causing his affections for her to bloom and the guilt in his heart to deepen. _I want to your forgiveness, Arya…_

"I never said this before Eragon," said Arya gently, suddenly speaking in the ancient language which caused him to still in surprise. Not even risking a chance at breathing, he sat there quiet and still. "But thank you for what you did for my family."

"What are you talking about?" asked Eragon quietly. "I did nothing that deserves praise."

"You saved my father," said Arya her voice serious. "The ring on your left hand is proof that you have done something of great weight for us. If it had not been for you he would not have returned to me as he did all those years ago. They said that his sword had snapped whilst he was dueling Galbatorix and you ran to his defense, guarding him from a blow that would have surely killed him."

He remained quiet and just barely let air pass through his nostril so that he could keep breathing. She continued in her still calm and quiet voice, "When I look back at how different things could have been, I am glad that you were there that day to fight alongside us. Had you not been there, my father would have been killed and we would have been lost after the Fall. Even now, you are trying your best to turn the Varden into a group that can withhold their own against Galbatorix."

"It is not much," murmured Eragon.

"You would not think so but everyone else values your dedication, Eragon," said Arya in a hard voice causing him to lift his head to stare at her, finding her emerald eyes once more. She shifted on the barrel slightly before hesitantly continuing. "It is rather embarrassing to say so myself but…part of the reason that I am here is because of what you told me all those years ago. I could not bring myself to sit idly in Ellesméra when you were here fighting."

"Arya…" he began softly. She shook her head, her cheeks tinging a slight pink at her confession and he felt humbled and moved by her words. To think that he had that much of an effect on her decision to leave Ellesméra made him hopeful.

"What I am trying to say Eragon is that I am glad that you are here else events would have gone much differently," said Arya eventually. "And I may not have as much experience as you in matters such as this but I am learning and I hope that one day you would be able to depend on me just as you have let me depend on you in the short time I have been here."

He sat there digesting her words letting it warm his heart and yet a small part of him felt even guiltier. He could not help but think of _his _Arya more so now than ever after his conversation with Angela and how she could be living in a world without him. It was unfair and it made his heart hurt. And yet all he could was smile because Arya—the one beside him—had admitted that he was an important figure in her life and the small irrational part of him that belonged to Arya could not help but feel touched.

As they sat there together, their shoulders touching he could not help but wish deep down in his heart for something that no longer within his reach.

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**I don't know if any of you have realized it yet but in this story Angela and Eragon are good friends (something I always thought about if we were to speak about the original IC). In this story I guess she sticks with him and helps him out a majority of the time. But now the secret is out with Angela (the first person I wanted to know). And things are going slowly and filler-ish but hopefully next chapter it will pick up. We still have a lot of Forsworn to go through, Elvina to get to know, Selena to be born, Fäolin to introduce, and a struggle for Arya's affections to write about (Sorry Eragon but it won't be as easy as RL for you this time around). In any case look forward to it! I shall try my best to see you all soon! **


	20. Chapter 20

**My computer is dying so I thought I would post this chapter up. If there are any errors, I shall go back and see to it. Also, if you all could point it out to me in the reviews it would be helpful for me to catch! (Torn between getting a beta for this story. Once more, it's update speed vs. a few grammatical mistakes/typos. It's all up to you readers). In any case before you read this chapter, I shall elaborate on the time jump. There's been a seven year jump since Arya had joined the Varden (six years since the last chapter). I know quite some time have gone by. But there's still plenty more to go by. With that explained, please enjoy this chapter! R&R!**

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"Get down!" Eragon yelled as another torrent of flames rained down on them. Trying to escape the raging inferno he sprinted off to the side, but it appeared as if his opponent was determined to see to it that he burned. Sliding behind the cover of large boulders that littered the mountain range of the Beor Mountains, he gritted his teeth as he felt another burst of heat above his head. He could let the flames be tested on his wards, but it would give away too much of how knowledgeable he was in the art of magic and wards. He wanted Kialandí to believe he had the upper hand, he wanted the Forsworn to think that Eragon was weak.

As the jet of flames continued, he crouched behind the boulder evaluating his surroundings. There must be something he could use for his own purpose. Kialandí was strong but he only assumed that was because he had taken Agaravel's Eldunarí for his own use and Eragon had the sneaking suspicion that the traitorous elf also took the Eldunarí of Arva's dragon. Crouched there with Brisingr gripped tightly in his right hand, he furiously thought. His men were holding off against the small group of reinforcements that Kialandí had brought with him for the purpose of disrupting the lives about the Beor Mountains hoping to draw the Varden out, but they were a step ahead of him.

"What are you talking about?" asked Eragon as he stared at Elvina, who had once more rudely barged into his living quarters. He had no idea how she had managed to find the hidden hallway but she did. After her first month in the Varden, she had located his chambers, no doubt due to her perceptive nature and had seemingly made it a mission to constantly irritate him.

"Like I had said," said Elvina as she sat on the edge of his desk, "There has been some strange movement about the Beor Mountains. I thought I saw something in the sky once during my wanderings."

He frowned. Elvina during the last few years that he had known her tended to wander about on her own disappearing for large lengths at a time before mysteriously reappearing once more. The longest time in which she disappeared was a year at most, and he felt glad that he did not have to tend to her presence in which she constantly seemed to try to irritate him. Not only that but whenever Arya was about, she also made it a point to make her uncomfortable. Eragon, himself, had to refrain from snapping at Elvina's rude and affronting remarks. Though he had to question Elvina and her purpose the longer she stayed with the Varden. She was not passionate about anything. While she seemed to share a unique interest in chasing what interested her, she did not care for anything else.

There was a cold difference between her and the witch. Angela was bright and she had an eccentric personality but Elvina was not. She was cold and aloof and did tasks that she only deemed herself worthy of. She was unlike Desdemona who beheld herself proudly due to her noble upbringing and nor was she like Arya's regality. No, there was something much more dangerous to Elvina. And she did nothing to ease his suspicions, instead she only seemed to feed them. Despite knowing her for a great length of time, he still did not trust her fully. There was something about Elvina that was too relaxed, too indifferent. If one did not regard her carefully, it would almost appear as if she did not care about anything in the world at all.

"What would I care about your wanderings?" asked Eragon turning back to his reports. "You have yet to tell me what you tend to do when you wander about up until now. Why should I take into account anything that you may see wherever you tend to disappear on your own?" He shifted through the reports, shuffling them neatly.

"There is no need for you to be rude about my helping you," said Elvina as she reached forward to pick up the glass orb that sat on his desk, staring at the white rose embedded in it. "I am simply trying to help you even though you appear too proud to ask for it."

"I do not need your help," said Eragon not glancing up at her haughty and beautiful profile. He was content to merely ignore Elvina and her words, until she let out an annoyed sound before her hand came down and pressed his papers down on his desk. Lips curling back in a sneer, he glanced up and was immediately uncomfortable when he found her directly before him, her face close enough that he could feel her breath wash over his skin.

Her blue eyes were piercing as she stared down at him, and her lips were curled into a frown of her own. "There is no need to be stubborn and prideful about it Eragon," she said her voice low and sharp like daggers as if she was offended that he had denied her helpful words. She appeared insulted Eragon recognized vaguely. "If you listen to me perhaps you can save the Varden more grief than it would suffer if you were to ignore my goodwill."

His brows slanted dangerously as he regarded her. With a glare, he reached forward to take his glass orb from her hands returning it to its stand on his desk. He wanted to tell her to stop touching his things, but it seemed that she had quite the tendency to ignore his words. "Goodwill?" he scoffed. "Enough with your words Elvina. I am busy and if you would be kind enough to keep out of my chambers or rather stop inviting yourself inside that would be greatly appreciated."

"So stubborn," said Elvina her blue eyes narrowing at him slightly. She refused to lift her hand from his texts, and he waited seeing which one of them would give first. "I still want to know why it seems as if you are rude to everyone else but the elven ambassador—"

"Arya," Eragon interjected out of habit as Elvina spoke. She knew that he was annoyed each time she mentioned Arya merely by station when she knew her well enough to recall her name without much thought. He saw the slightest smirk on her face at the sight of his growing irritation. _Calm yourself Eragon, _he thought himself, _do not let Elvina get the better of you. _

"Why is that?" asked Elvina appearing genuinely curious.

"That is none of your concern," Eragon replied. Then with a tug of his hand, he practically ripped his texts from underneath her hand. Her lips pursed as she continued to hold him beneath her glare. "Now, if you have nothing better to do but waste my time perhaps you can kindly see yourself out."

"You are very rude Eragon," Elvina repeated once more a feral smirk coming to her face. "But I find that characteristic rather appealing on you."

Knowing how her comments made him awkward, Eragon instantly fought the urge to cringe. He did not know if Elvina did so in order to intentionally put him in an awkward situation but she did well enough. Unused to such comments, he merely sat there before sighing. Leaning back in his seat, he continued to read the documents while Elvina stretched from where she sat atop his desk. She seemed inclined to stay and no matter what he said, she wasn't going to leave.

"What is the significance of the white rose?" asked Elvina, her forefinger lightly gliding over the glass orb. He paused in his readings to glance at the object that she was once more focusing her attention on. She had asked him many times over the few years that she'd spent within the Varden about the rose but he never gave her answer. That did not seem to daunt her, however, for she continued to ask. Whether it was out of sheer determination to see him cave to her whims or a genuine curiosity on her part he did not know.

"That is also no concern of yours," said Eragon.

"One day, I shall learn all of your secrets," said Elvina with great certainty while Eragon merely snorted.

"I shall let you continue to live in such disillusions," said Eragon.

"In any case," said Elvina, her tone growing serious. "It would be prudent that you and perhaps a few of your men scout the Beor Mountains. I was not lying when I said I saw something that could pose a threat to the Varden."

He did not say anything but the fact that Elvina had thought that what she had seen was important enough to reiterate to him made him cautious. Deciding not to tell her that he would look into what she had said, he kept quiet and continued to read his reports while she merely sat with a thoughtful look on her face atop his desk.

"Come out! Or are you really the elf who had managed to kill Aegnor?" Kialandí called to him. He could hear the self-satisfaction in his voice as if he had cornered a frightened animal and was preparing to kill it with ease. It was rather unfortunate for him that he was dealing with Eragon. Smirking to himself slightly as he hid behind the boulder, Eragon lurched forward letting his feet slide out from underneath him as he went skidding down a slope in the ground leading Kialandí far from his men.

He needed to isolate Kialandí like he had done to Darius once before. As long as the elf was atop his dragon he would be unable to reach. Easily using his surroundings as cover, he blinked when he felt a tingle on the back of his neck and narrowly ducked a bright bolt of violet magic that was aimed for his head. _Keep chasing me, Kialandí you fool, _thought Eragon viciously as he hurried forward.

Elvina had been correct in her assumption. After she had spoken to him, he had gone to Weldon a few days prior and though the leader of the Varden was now rather aged, his mind was still sharp. He had ordered that Eragon and a scouting party left the Beor Mountains to search about the area that Elvina had indicated and sure enough he had found Kialandí and his purple dragon as well as a camp of soldiers shuffling through the paths in the Beor Mountains in search of a tunnel into Farthen Dûr.

_Perhaps I should give Elvina more credit, _thought Eragon as he propelled himself behind a boulder that was ten times his size. Reaching into Aren for the magic that he had stored away over the decades, he shouted in the ancient language, "Jierda!"

The boulder exploded outwards filtering the air with thousands of tiny shards of rock. They bounced harmlessly off of his wards and he could see them flying towards Kialandí and his dragon, bouncing off of their wards as well. Scowling, he continued to sprint about as they pursued him. There was another flash of light and the ground beside him was instantly lit in flames as his spell struck narrowly missing Eragon.

He threw his own crackling bolt of magic at Kialandí watching as his dragon easily maneuvered through the air to dodge about it. Easily dodging another one, he clenched his teeth as Kialandí continued to taunt him from above. "What a pitiful warrior you are!" he jeered mockingly at Eragon as his dragon swooped down, jaws snapping.

He rolled avoiding the sharp teeth that bore down on him and in doing so, he kept Brisingr perpendicular to his body cutting a deep gash on the underside of Kialandí's dragon's body. The purple dragon gave a howl of pain as it lifted itself higher into the air and away from his blade. Ignoring the sizzling pain on his skin as deep drops of red blood fell to him, Eragon jumped back as Kialandí threw more magic at him, each in rapid succession in his anger.

Cursing that he was stuck to the ground, he continued to run about the ground as they flew above him. Another bolt of crackling energy came down upon him and as he tried to dodge it, the bright energy made contact with another rock boulder on the ground causing it to explode beside Eragon. The force of the explosion sent him propelling backwards into rough base of the mountain knocking all the wind from him. Head slamming hard against the rock, he felt his vision slip from his grasp as a chill settled over his body.

_Get up, _Eragon thought to himself sluggishly against the darkness that threatened to overwhelm him as pain erupted in the back of his head. He could hear the flapping of wind above him, the laughter of triumph, and the whistle of wind but could not will his body to respond. Groaning slightly as he tried to shake off the pain, he shuddered when he tried to move. Of all the careless mistakes to make, thought Eragon darkly.

"_Beaten so easily?" _

_Blinking, he glanced up not seeing the green of the grass, the white of the mountains, nor the blue of the sky. All he saw was a white background and beneath him was a patch of white lilies, swaying gently in the nonexistent breeze. Where was this? Tentatively moving to his feet, he turned about wondering who had spoken to him. The voice, in that moment of dull pain, sounded familiar. _

_Before he could so much as take a step, the soft voice spoke once more and this time he froze on the spot recognizing it. "Do not tell me that not fighting constantly has caused you to become lax in your skills," the feminine voice chided him gently, amused almost. Instantly he felt his heart stop and his throat close up as he recognized the voice that he heard almost daily for the past seven years but felt like he was hearing for the first time in nearly four decades. "You are losing your edge, Eragon." _

_He blinked, swallowing thickly so tempted to turn about but unable to bring himself to. Instead, he stood there with his head bowed trying to organize his thoughts. After a long moment, he finally spoke. "Arya?" _

_He heard her soft sigh of acknowledgement before he felt a small hand grip his upper right forearm, the pressure familiar and heartwarming. "You foolish man," she said gently, her voice soothing him. In that moment, all the uncertainty and doubt that he felt in the last few decades was wiped from his mind because he knew that this Arya—the one speaking to him was his. "Do not let someone as low and unforgiving as Kialandí best you. You have fought far worse than him." _

"_I must look like a failure to you," said Eragon softly unsure if this Arya was a mere figment of his imagination that his injured head had conjured up or if she was the living piece that was wrapped deep within his soul. "Are you ashamed of my choices Arya? Are you ashamed of me?" _

_She made a sound between a scoff and a sigh at his question before he felt warm arms wrap about his body from behind. Her embrace touched him, caressing his body, heart, and soul as he stood there his eyes stinging with emotions. "Never," said Arya gently, her head resting against his back. "What is there to be ashamed of?" _

"_My weaknesses…my failures," murmured Eragon. "I—died. I left you and Saphira and everyone else behind." _

_Arya did not say anything but her arms tightened about him and the two of them were silent as they stood there together. Then she spoke, her voice quiet. "You foolish man," she repeated gently. He couldn't do anything but nod, agreeing with her words. Then she spoke once more, saying his true name in a tender voice. "Remember your promises to me, Eragon?" _

"_Yes," whispered Eragon in reply. _

"_I am still waiting for you to make well on your words." _

Gasping for air as if he had been deprived of it, Eragon blinked immediately rolling away when he heard a silent hiss cut through the air. Kialandí's purple blade tore off a piece of rock as it missed Eragon's body. Gripping Brisingr in his hand tightly, he shook his head to clear his disoriented mind. The Forsworn looked displeased at the fact that Eragon had narrowly escaped death but he did nothing more than curl his lips downward in a scowl.

"You are more bothersome than I thought you would be," said Kialandí as he pinned Eragon with his deep chestnut eyes, his dark hair framing his fair face. He lifted his sword to study the blade as if afraid that it was damaged when it struck the mountain side. Satisfied that it was in good condition, he turned to Eragon. "I flew all the way here and even brought several soldiers to greet you and here you are repaying my kindness ungraciously."

"You think rather highly of yourself," said Eragon as he reached up to draw Vrangr, his mind clearing slightly of the fog that blanketed it earlier. But he did not forget the feel of Arya's embrace nor the emotion behind her words. Even if his mind made up that moment, even if it was not real he would cherish it. That moment was the only moment he had with her in so long and he would keep it forever.

Kialandí did not say anything but merely began to advance on Eragon. He kicked at the rubble on the ground as if trying to taunt him. "I had heard the rumors that there was an elf about in the Beor Mountains helping the Varden but never would I have thought that it was another bothersome remnant of the Order," said Kialandí. "I had thought that fool Brom was one fool too many and yet here we have another Rider that is meddling about. When will you admit that you have lost? That there is no possibility that you can win anymore? Without a dragon, you can hope to do nothing else but grovel at King Galbatorix's feet."

"I see you are below Formora," said Eragon mockingly as he began to circle Kialandí careful to keep his back to the mountain face and away from open space in case Kialandí's dragon decided to make an appearance. "She does not refer to Galbatorix as her king." In the short encounter he had with Formora, all she ever called Galbatorix by was his name. She never referenced him as majesty, king, or lord. Kialandí was different, however. He did not seem reluctant to acknowledge Galbatorix as the greater power.

"Formora likes to believe that she is the better of us," said Kialandí nonplused by Eragon's insult. "Though she is a Forsworn, she has her own way about things. As long as she answers to the king, she can do as she please."

So she was different from the rest of the Forsworn thought Eragon slightly interested as he and Kialandí began to circle about each other. Studying Kialandí intently, his eyes darted about the elf trying his best to see if he could find any sort of opening. His father had told him long ago that the trick to dealing with the Forsworn was not through brute strength but through cunning and intelligence. Even if he had to fight unfairly, he would have to utilize every advantage that he could.

Like always, he waited until his opponent struck first. It always gave him the needed time to think and prepare as well as allow him to understand his opponent's mindset. Kialandí moved quickly and once more Eragon had no doubt in his mind that the elf was aided by the Eldunarí. He moved faster than Aegnor did when Eragon had battled with him years earlier, and there was an air of confidence in the elf's steps that made him cautious.

This was the elf that had woven complicated magic to trap and cripple Oromis. With that thought in mind, Eragon felt his caution double. When their blades met, his brows furrowed when he felt a great strength push against him. Had he not merged his soul with Arya and Asura and had undergone several transformations, he would have been pushed back like reeds in an autumn breeze. Standing his ground, he felt a flash of satisfaction course through him at the surprise on Kialandí's expression at being unable to overtake Eragon.

_I am not as weak as you believe me to be, _thought Eragon with grim satisfaction as he beheld Kialandí. Then with a great push, he shoved Kialandí back watching the elf stumble slightly before he regained his footing. He started forward this time, his earlier confidence diminishing as he held his purple sword parallel to his body, studying Eragon intently.

Then he spoke in a low voice. "Who are you?"

"I have no reason to answer your questions," said Eragon as he lunged forward, springing through the air with great force. Instead of directly attacking Kialandí, he turned and flew past his purple blade and with a quick sweep of his feet sent the elf tumbling to the ground in surprise. _You do not know it, but I was also taught by Galbatorix, _thought Eragon as he brought Brisingr down only to make contact with the ground. The moment his blade slammed into the hard earth, he grimaced at the jarring pain that traveled straight through his arm.

Quickly bringing Vrangr before him to block a blow to his neck, he twisted his wrist allowing their blades to slide past each other until they came free. There was a second's pause between the two of them before they brought their swords together with a resounding clash. Hilts locked, Eragon smirked as he brought Brisingr up and sliced a deep gash in Kialandí's arm watching as the elf pulled back in shocked surprise.

His expression was enough to tell Eragon that it had been years since he'd felt the pain of an injury. But his injury did not daunt Kialandí, instead it seemed to make the elf even more dangerous as he swung his blade forward once more.

Their swords met in a flurry of sparks, clangs of metal renting the air and filling their ears as they tried to batter away at each other. Whenever it seemed as if one person had gained an advantage over the other, the tide would shift and turn and the battle would draw out even more. At one point, Eragon had managed to dislodge Kialandí's sword from his hands only to be struck in the chest but a ball of light that sent him reeling. His moment's disorientation gave Kialandí enough time to recover his blade and strike back.

Twisting his arm over Kialandí's as he jabbed his sword forward, he roughly elbowed the elf in the chest knocking the breath out of him. Bringing his sword up to deal the elf a fatal blow to his chest, he blinked when he felt a tail whip into him from behind knocking him forward. Having forgotten about the purple dragon, Eragon cursed rolling to his feet as he ignored the aching pain in his back.

He turned towards Kialandí and moved to step forward only to blink when he felt his feet planted to the ground and the flow of the world shift about him. There was a moment of vertigo in which he felt as if he was floating out of his body before the sensation twisted into something more painful and overwhelming. It was as if all of his senses were on fire. The pain started out small at first, deep in the center of his chest before growing and growing into a burning fire that seized his body and flashed through his nerves. Heaving in a deep breath, he blinked as his eyes darted down to the purple line of pulsing magic that circled him.

Was this the same spell that he had used on Oromis?

"I used this spell once before," said Kialandí as he approached Eragon with a glint in his eyes as the evening sun shone down on them casting a bloody glow on the white mountain range. "Years ago, when Formora and I fooled one of the elders. It was almost pitiful now that I looked back on it. How come the elder, for all of his wisdom and knowledge, not see that the traitors were directly before him. It only serves to show that the Order was nothing more than a meaningless council that only did to restrict us."

"You betrayed them," said Eragon refusing to show any sort of pain as each word left his lips, feeling like he was burning from the inside out. There was another shift in magic about him and suddenly it felt as if the entire world was inverted in his eyes.

"The strong live and rule," said Kialandí. "That is how nature works. Wolves rule the forests not deer. If you are weak, then you should not rule over the strong. The world does not work that way. The Order was wrong, and we fixed it. Had they been strong, then we would have been killed and that would have been our just punishment for betraying them. But they were not strong. They fell and died by our hands, by thirteen Forsworn and King Galbatorix. Doru Araeba, Iliera, King Evandar and the elven army, each and every one of them were too weak to fight us. We are the just victors and what is history if not written by those that are victorious? The Riders had their moment to bask in their glory and stagnant age. Now it is gone and replaced with a new era."

"Gone for what? This sham that you call an Empire?" Kialandí took a step forward standing outside of the magic circle that he created.

"Perhaps," admitted Kialandí. He then frowned at Eragon. "Now before I see to it that I do away with you, I want to know how it was that you were able to find our location when there was not a scout about the Beor Mountains."

"And why should I tell you?" asked Eragon his lips in a thin line.

"You will not need to, I have my ways on how to extract information that I want," said Kialandí at ease. "I can always torture you to take it from you. Or perhaps I could cripple you like I did to that worthless elder years earlier."

There was a movement in the air behind Kialandí before his dragon landed on the ground behind the elf, snarling. "You will not extract anything from me," said Eragon with a dark look, baiting Kialandí to try his worst. He had withstood Faust's tortures when he was younger, he could withstand anything that this elf might think of doing. Though he did feel apprehensive about the possible creativeness that Kialandí might extend on his magic.

He smiled as if taking Eragon's words as a challenge before opening his mouth to speak, the ancient language falling upon his lips. He spoke so low that Eragon could barely hear him despite his acute sense of hearing. The only indication that he was casting a spell was the suddenly twist in the space about Eragon compressing him, squeezing his bones. It almost felt as if his insides were being crushed from the inside out traveling slowly from his head to his feet.

Coughing, he blinked when he felt his warm blood trickle down his chin. Kialandí continued to speak, not slowing in incantation. Instantly, he felt Arya's magic swirl within him trying to counter the reverse flow of magic. It appeared as if Kialandí could not sense her magic slipping in underneath his reworking the flow of the fabric of the world that he was creating about Eragon. Like always, her magic was trying it's best to protect him and for that he was grateful.

Kialandí continued to mutter about renting the flow of magic, but then suddenly Arya's magic found the weak point in his and without much effort reversed the flow, correcting it in an instant. There was a bright flash and Eragon was freed while Kialandí was thrown backwards, impaling himself on his dragon's spike. Eragon winced at the sick squelching sound that came from the impact of his chest being pierced through by the pointy spike.

His dragon gave a whimper at the sight of his Rider once more injured. Holding his sword up, he ignored the pain that still gripped at him and made his way towards Kialandí, Brisingr flashing brightly in the bloody hue, the sapphire contrasting with the ruby. As he swung his sword at Kialandí, his dragon reared lifting Kialandí out of harm's way. The only thing Eragon managed to do was cut free the saddle from the purple dragon before it gave flight risking impaling Kialandí even further than leaving him to Eragon's mercy.

He frowned as he watched them escape, having no means to go after them. Instead, he sheathed Brisingr and Vrangr turning his attention back to the saddle that he had cut free. Curious as to what a Forsworn could have packed away, he made his way to the leather saddlebags. After checking for any spells and enchantments that could possibly be guarding the objects that Kialandí was coveting, Eragon pulled the leather apart to search through them.

There were various reports that could be of use to them and several others that were not. But what shocked him the most as he was ripping away the leather was the four gleaming orbs that stared up at him in an ovular shape. They were of varying sizes and colors but their overall distinctive build was similar. He felt his heart pound as he reached a hand down to touch the emerald orb that held a hue that reminded him distinctly of Eridor.

_This can't be…_

But it was. There was no other material in the world that could match the beauty of what others might mistake as glorious jewels. Their glassy surface shined brightly and beautifully at him. And as he stared at the emerald orb, he could not help but feel a great deal of gratitude and affection rush through him for Arya. She had been here for him in spirit to help him win even when she wasn't with him physically. She had helped him obtain them.

Her magic and love had helped him prevail over Kialandí and had delivered to him four Eldunarí.

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**Suspenseful music cue! Anyways, I wanted to introduce the Eldunari early and this seemed like the opportune moment and geez Kialandi is such an idiot getting impaled twice on his dragon. In any case, there are still more of the Forsworn to be addressed. In any case, pertaining to Angela's prediction It could be true, it could not be true. It depends if you all think I would give you the plot line that _easily. _There could be more to it than you would ever guess. Also the vision with Arya could be a hallucination or it could be something more. Who knows anymore? So many questions...so, so many questions. Sigh, and so much more to write. In any case, look for those typos please! And hope for more soon! I'll try to update quickly but I've been pressed for time. I have so many projects to do and my backpacking trip to Europe was approved! I got the full grant! Yay! Let's all celebrate! In any case, I hope to see you all soon! **


	21. Chapter 21

**It is late at night and once again if you read this and catch any typos please PM me or review so that I can go back and correct everything. This chapter is rather long and it would mean much if someone found the mistakes so that I could fix it. (It's a roundabout way of getting about not having a Beta and updating somewhat quickly). To address one question, why did Kialandi have so few Eldunari? Well, if we were to judge Galbatorix's rather paranoid ways, I believe he would regulate just how much his Forsworn can use. It wouldn't be wise if he gave them a great part of his means to power, you know? In any case, this is a filler-ish chapter. So, R&R everyone. **

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Pulling his cloak about him tighter, he fought the urge to shiver as he and Arya trekked through the white snow that covered the lush green grass of Du Weldenvarden. It was the beginnings of winter in Alagaësia. While others were preparing themselves for the brisk and chilly days to follow, he had thought it was an opportune moment for him to return to Ellesméra for the first time in nearly two decades. Though Arya had oftentimes traveled to and fro between Farthen Dûr and Ellesméra, he had never opted to join her. His duties had proven too weighty for him to even consider doing so.

However, the matter of the Eldunarí was not to be overlooked. He had tried to contact Agaravel and Avra's dragon, but the two Eldunarí were in such a state of hurt that it was difficult to draw them back out. _At least they are not yet crazed, _thought Eragon. Turning his head slightly, he glanced at the pocket of space directly above and behind his head where the Eldunarí were floating and flowing. He had utilized the spell that Umaroth had once told him well. No one had given any thought to the presence of the Eldunarí except for those of great magical capabilities. Frequently, he had caught Arya's eyes flickering to the space where the Eldunarí were hidden, but it seemed as if she was unaware, herself, of how she kept glancing at that particular area. She was, no doubt, subconsciously attracted to the magic of the Eldunarí.

As they walked in relative silence with each other, he couldn't help but think of another time in which it was merely the two of them walking together underneath the covers of the ancient pines. He wondered what it was that she was thinking. Though she did not say it outright, he had years to perfect his understanding of her. She was tensed and there was a hesitancy to her actions and it only seemed to grow as they neared Ellesméra. He could only arrive at one answer for her slight change in nature.

Though he had not asked her what it was that had transpired between her and her mother seven years ago, he had hoped that it was not a repeat of what had happened to Arya in his world. But it appeared that his hopes were in vain. They had argued and came to a crossroads once more it seemed. _Whether it is in this world or mine own, Islanzadí and Arya will always be at odds, _thought Eragon sadly as he stared at the back of Arya's head, trailing behind her a few paces.

It seemed that her mother would always want what was best for her and that Arya was too independent to merely agree. They were both very stubborn. He felt rather sorry for King Evandar that mother and daughter were at ends. Was that how his mother felt in regards to him and Brom in the beginning? It was a curious thought to contend with.

"We should find shelter to rest for the night," said Eragon eventually as night began to descend about them. He glanced up at the dusky red sky and frowned. It would take no more than an hour at most for night to blanket them.

"There should be one nearby," Arya replied not turning to look at him as she brushed a low branch aside to continue walking. He nodded, momentarily forgetting that she could not see him and followed her. Though he understood how to use a compass and how to find his way about Du Weldenvarden, it appeared as if Arya had a better grasp of the forest. Following her lithe figure about the trees he was careful to keep a respectable distance from her.

It was hard not to want to automatically sweep her up in his arms when she was so close at hand, but he had to repress that urge. The two of them were close friends—at least that was what he thought of himself as to Arya. Having known her for nearly twenty six years, he would think that she considered him a close friend. Yet there seemed to be an unknown boundary between them, as if she could not confide in him all of her troubles. He frowned at the thought of it, and unbidden by him, he thought of how Arya could possibly go and seek out Fäolin to speak her troubles to.

The thought of it made him want to hit something.

Violently pushing the thought from his mind, he inwardly sighed as he followed behind Arya. Grateful for the leather boots that he had received from Weldon, Eragon was careful to pay attention to the ground in which thick roots protruded.

Before night could completely encompass them, Arya had managed to find a cave eastward of Ellesméra for them to rest for the night. Grateful to be out of the harsh winter elements, he followed her into the cave, careful of the slope that went downwards into the earth and away from the brisk night air. After collecting a large pile of dry branches and twigs and lighting a warm campfire, he unrolled his pack on the ground to cushion the hard earth.

"Are you hungry, Arya?" Eragon asked as they sat in silence across from each other. From the way she was sitting with her knees up and her arms wrapped about them instantly told him that she was in deep thought. Something was bothering her. He wanted to ask her what it was but caught himself. Were they considered close enough of friends that she was going to be willing to tell him her troubles?

"Just slightly," Arya murmured unable to lie as he had asked her in the ancient language. The two of them had made the transition from the human tongue to the ancient language as soon as they had crossed the borders into Du Weldenvarden.

Nodding, he instantly reached into his back to pull out a thick leather hide pouch. With practiced movements he had the bag settled over the campfire, boiling with mushroom and onion soup. Sitting back on his heels, he was careful to keep an eye on the boiling soup, not wanting it to burn.

"Eragon," he glanced up at Arya, catching sight of her piercing green eyes that seemed to be bright with emotion.

"Yes?" he asked cautiously not wanting to seem too eager that she was willing to speak with him.

"Do you…do you have any family?" the tentative way in which she had asked made him think that she was nervous about breaching such a personal subject. Though he usually shied away from questions about his past, the fact that Arya was asking it made him pause. In the many years in which he had come to know Arya once more, she had never asked questions that pertained personally to him. Yes, she did ask about his past adventures and his life as a Rider but never about his family or anything of the like. And if he hoped for her to confide in him her troubles, it was clear that he should let her listen to his own as well.

"I used to," said Eragon softly as he stirred the soup. At her questioning stare, he elaborated. "They were taken from me after the war."

She nodded in understanding and he thought he saw a touch of contrition on her features. He smiled at her, reassuringly. "It was long ago, Arya. I have come to accept it," said Eragon.

She was quiet for a long moment before she spoke once more, this time more confident than the last.

"Were you close to your family?" asked Arya curiously.

"Not at first," said Eragon smiling ruefully. "I was close to my mother but not my father, my brother, or my cousin and his family. I grew up with my mother and not my father or brother until I was sixteen. For years, I bore a deep hatred and resentment for my father and brother. Looking back on it, I feel like it was somewhat childish."

"Why did you hate them for so long?" asked Arya, her brows furrowed as if she couldn't imagine him carrying such an intense hatred for anyone.

"It was from a mistake that my father made," said Eragon as he continued to stir the mushroom and onion soup. "I was young and I had thought that he had abandoned me and my mother for his own purposes. But it wasn't so. When I met him years later, I had wanted to hate him for the mistake he made on his part. I wanted to resent him and I would have, if it weren't for…"

He stopped as he thought of Arya. She had been the one to help him see that errs of his ways. Feeling his lips curl downwards slightly, he tried to think of a way to explain to Arya how important her words were to him, how she had made him try to be better. "A close friend of mine helped me see how bitterness was a choice. I—," he stopped momentarily at a loss for words. After a moment of thinking, he began again. "It helped me see how short life was and how I could cling to my hatred or merely move on and try to be better—to understand my father. It took much work and thinking but in the end, I was able to accept it and move on."

Arya nodded, glancing at the fire and he could see an internal struggle in her eyes as she thought of what else to ask him. "Your friend…was it the same person whom made your Vrangr?" asked Arya softly, understanding lacing her voice. Eragon blinked as he tried to think of how to answer her. He had kept his feelings and memories of Arya locked away deep within his heart because he knew that no one could understand his feelings for her. She had given him everything so that he could learn to love and live. She had been an important constant in his life in the short time he'd known her and yet, it felt like more.

"Yes," the truth left him in an almost strangled whisper. "She was."

Taking in a deep breath, he shook his head trying to clear his suddenly turbulent emotions. He had never suspected that actually speaking of Arya would cause him so much pain, but it did. There was a difference, Eragon thought sadly, between mourning silently and mourning verbally. Speaking it aloud only made the situation of his reality more real than it had been for the past near four decades.

Arya fell quiet almost as if she could feel his pain when speaking of _her. _But it wasn't, not in a sense thought Eragon. And yet, in his heart he could feel an intense longing for Arya, the one before him and the one that was his. Whether it was in this world on the other, his feelings would always be for her. Even if she didn't realize it.

"The two of us were close friends," said Eragon unable to keep quiet about the emotions that he had long stored deep within his heart. _We were mates—soul bonds. _"I did not have many friends when I was younger, not really. And it was out of trying circumstances that we met…but she still trusted me. We trained and fought together as Dragon Riders. She was the only person who understood me and who I was and where I came from. We were both alike and yet so very different. During a battle, one of my original swords snapped from the pressure of magic and because she wanted to protect me, she forged the blade of Vrangr so that it could be brother to Brisingr…It was one of the greatest gifts I have received in my life apart from my dragon."

"What happened to her?"

"The two of us fought together against Galbatorix…" he sighed, stopping short of what he was about to say. Arya was not dead, she was still alive in this world and in the other if Angela's theory was correct. But it appeared as if the Arya before him took his silence as something else entirely and he did not correct her.

"She must have meant much to you," murmured Arya softly.

"She still does," murmured Eragon. At her confused expression, he merely smiled softly. "I only hope that you never have to experience this pain for yourself Arya but I have come to understand that love conquers death. It lives on after death…and even if I did not believe in it when I was younger, I have come to believe in eternity."

"Eternity?" Her deep emerald eyes pierced his and he found in them an emotion he was unable to discern.

"That love will live on through death and time so that one day, we will be reunited with our loved ones," said Eragon as he reached into his bags to pull out two wooden bowls and spoons. He poured her a bowl full of soup and handed it to her along with a spoon before pouring himself some.

She was quiet as she ate, her eyes flickering from him to the fire and to the entrance of the cave. He had thought she would have dropped the subject and leave it at rest, but her next question surprised him. "Do you dislike it…that you are alive and that they are…?" She paused as if struggling for words before shaking her head. "I apologize Eragon, it is just that…I have heard how difficult it is to lose a loved one, especially your bonded dragon. Some of the past Riders have gone mad with grief and taken their own lives because they could not endure the pain of living without their bonded partners…" She trailed off once more as if hesitant to continue, unsure of whether or not her question would cause him any affront.

"I suppose that is true," said Eragon with a nod showing her that her question had caused him no discomfort or pain. "Some do go mad with grief over the loss of their dragons…ending one's own life to be with them is not cowardice or pathetic but understandable."

"And yet, here you are," murmured Arya.

"And yet, here I am," agreed Eragon with a nod. He swallowed a spoonful of his soup, contemplating for a moment what to say. "Brom and I…we share a common goal that helps us to forget the pain of our loss and focus our energies on our obligations. Having a task or goal to focus on helps, if slightly. But even if I did not have the Varden to devote my time to…I would not give into my sorrow. I would continue living…because if I didn't, no one would remember my dragon, my family, or my friends." _Only I would because they never existed in this time, _thought Eragon fighting a frown.

"It seems that there is always something to be learned from you, Eragon," said Arya with a faint smile.

He chuckled slightly. "I never considered myself a teacher of any sort but I am glad if you have gleaned anything that could be of use to you."

She nodded. It appeared as if her questioning was done for she merely turned to her soup, letting the silence reign. He had hoped that he had become less of a mystery to her and more of a friend that she could trust. After all, he had confided in her his past. Perhaps, it would help her to relax more in his presence and learn to depend on him. _I want you to be able to ask me for help, Arya. _Pouring himself a second bowl of soup, he continued to eat.

Once they were done eating, he had washed and packed away his things and was ready to turn in for the night before Arya spoke once more, so softly that he barely heard her words. "Eragon…would you consider us close friends?" For one long and strange moment, he thought she sounded somewhat timid which was a great contrast to her usually imperious and strong willed nature.

"There is no doubt in my mind that we are," said Eragon without hesitation. He thought he saw a slight hint of a smile on her face as she settled down on her blankets but with the shadows that the fire casted on her features, he couldn't be certain. Instead, he stretched out on his own blankets and with one last glance at Arya allowed himself to drift off into his waking dreams.

"_Did you ever believe in me?" asked Eragon curiously as he turned to stare at Arya, as they sat side by side with their bare feet in the running water of the Jiet River. Not far off, Saphira and Eridor were playfully chasing each under in the river, careful not to splash their Riders. Arya made a soft sound of exasperation, turning her head to stare up at him. _

"_What kind of question is that?" asked Arya amused by his sudden need to know her thoughts. _

"_A curious one," said Eragon. He narrowed his eyes at her. "Unless, you did not believe in me at first." _

_She looked like she wanted to roll her eyes but merely settled for shaking her head instead. "I always believed in you," she smiled, "I still believe in you," she stopped at his pleased smile and instead squeezed his hand lightly through their interlaced fingers. "Whatever brought you to ask such a question?" _

"_I was just curious," said Eragon. He paused before another question appeared on his forefront. "What did you first think of me when you saw me? As Gabranth, I mean." _

_She was silent for a long moment. "When I first saw you…I had thought that perhaps, you would have been the new monster to continue my tortures. After Durza had failed to extract any information from me, I was afraid that perhaps Galbatorix had decided that I be subjected to worst," he frowned at the thought of Arya thinking that he would even dare to harm her in such a way. At his expression, she smiled and squeezed his hand once more. "I was wrong, however. When you took me to your room and healed me, I was confused. I did not know what it was that you wanted from me and yet during my stay in Gil'ead, short though it was, you had shown me more kindness than most people. You healed me, encouraged me to escape, and you allowed me to take Murtagh and the last egg to the Varden, knowing that you could have been punished by Galbatorix had he found out. A great part of me was grateful for what you did but there was always a small part that worried for you." _

"_Galbatorix would not have hurt me to such a great extent," said Eragon without a doubt. _

"_There are worst punishments than death, Eragon," murmured Arya gently as she reached up with her free hand to caress the side of his face. "In any case, I am glad that you have followed your mother to the Varden, for if you had not I would no doubt have been unable to experience such happiness as to have you as a mate." _

"_I am glad as well," Eragon replied as he watched her emerald eyes sparkle with warmth and tender affections. "What do you think of me now?" _

_Her smile widened slightly as she pulled his face closer to hers, softly brushing her lips over his own, her breath caressing his face. "My white rose…" _

"You will not come to visit Evandar Könungr?" asked Eragon curiously as the two of them stopped before the entrance to Tialdarí Hall. He saw Arya's reluctance and wanted her to fight it. She had nothing to be ashamed of in stepping foot into her own ancestral home. If her mother wished not to see her, then Islanzadí could keep to herself but it was Arya's right as the daughter of Evandar to see her own father when she wished to.

"I do not want to give him any trouble," murmured Arya. "Besides it is late—"

"It is barely evening," said Eragon waving away her troubles. When she made no indication to move or follow him, he stepped forward and reached out to her placing a hand on her shoulder. Instantly, she glanced up at him, her eyes curious and her red lips slightly curled downwards at the corners, showing her true feelings. "Arya, I do not know what it is that happened between you and your mother and father but there is no need to feel ashamed in wanting to see Evandar Könungr. He may be the king with his own obligations but I believe a father shall always see his daughter as his highest and most important priority in life."

"It is not that I am ashamed—" She stopped when the doors to Tialdarí Hall swung open to reveal a fair male elf whom Eragon instantly recognized. He remembered the light sapphire eyes and dark hair and felt his heart constrict in his chest at the sight of the elf. Even if Arya had never introduced him to the male elf before them, Eragon already knew who it was that the elf was—Fäolin . He blinked and his hand unintentionally squeezed Arya's shoulder tighter. This was the elf whom Arya held great feelings of comradeship with and perhaps even more than comradeship. He was her Black Morning Glory.

He watched as Fäolin 's eyes widened slightly at their appearance before a charming smile graced his lips as his eyes landed on Arya and it was clear to Eragon that Fäolin viewed Arya in a different light than that of merely a good friend.

"Arya," he said, her voice smooth as he gracefully came to a stop before them the doors to Tialdarí Hall swinging close behind him. Eragon immediately stiffened watching as Fäolin raised his right hand to touch his two fingers to his lips to greet Arya first. What irritated Eragon about the elf was how he had neglected to use any formal titles when addressing Arya. It was evident of how close the two were it seemed. His frown deepened even more.

"Fäolin ," the way Arya smiled at him made Eragon's throat tightened and he fought to tame the jealousy that was beginning to rise up within him. Though he had no right to of who Arya spoke to, he did not like what he saw between her and Fäolin .

"It is good to see you have returned to Ellesméra," he bestowed a warm smile on Arya to which her own smile grew and if Eragon's eyes were deceiving him, he thought she looked rather _pleased _at Fäolin 's warm welcome. When the elf's azure eyes came to rest on Eragon, he fought to keep his expression calm and collected. Catching sight of the ring on Eragon's left hand, Fäolin 's eyes widened just slightly as he greeted Eragon first much to his satisfaction.

"You must be Eragon," said Fäolin politely, his eyes darting to Eragon's right hand which was still resting on Arya's shoulder. He wanted to smirk at the elf but refrained from doing so.

"And you are?" Eragon inclined his head to the elf in a polite voice as well.

"Fäolin ," Arya supplied much to Eragon's great annoyance. He blinked when she stepped away from him, causing him to retract his hand, and moved towards Fäolin , her smile never fading. Even though she did not know what it was that she was doing to him, he still felt wounded. He blinked when she and Fäolin shared a short embrace as they greeted one another once more before she turned to him. "He is a friend of mine."

"I see," murmured Eragon trying to keep the bitterness from his voice. _Friend? _He inwardly scoffed. For some reason, he did not believe that they were merely friends. Eyes darting from between Arya and Fäolin , he could not help but wonder where the two of them would be decades from now. _Who would you choose, Arya? What you know and understand or what you do not and wish to? _

"I have heard word of what you are doing for the Varden," said Fäolin his politeness never fading. "Your deeds are great and widely spread in Ellesméra."

"I would not call them great," said Eragon denying any sort of praise with a slight frown. He wished that Arya would come to stand with him once more and not by Fäolin 's side. "And what is it that you do, Fäolin ?"

As he expected the look on Fäolin 's face faltered giving way to hesitation. He had assumed correctly. Fäolin was still thinking of what it was that he wanted to do. He was still deciding on whether or not he should give up his home in Ellesméra to join Arya and her endeavors as the Elven ambassador. When he wanted to laugh at the hesitation on Fäolin 's face, he felt as if he was struck when Arya laid a gentle hand on the side of Fäolin 's arm as if to comfort him and tell him that he did not have to decide yet.

Fighting the urge to separate them, his eyes flickered back to Fäolin as he spoke with a smile upon his face once more. "I have yet to decide on a hobby or a purpose to devote myself to," he answered honestly.

Eragon nodded. _Hopefully he would remain undecided for several more decades, _thought Eragon praying to whatever higher divinity there was to hear his wish. He could not stand to see Arya with another person especially since a part of her soul was intertwined with his. Though he could feel her tender affections caressing his soul, he could not take to seeing her attention devoted elsewhere.

Just as they were about to speak once more, the doors swung outwards and Eragon blinked when he saw King Evandar without his high lords and ladies following him. At the sight of the three of them, the king paused in his footsteps. His gray eyes fell on Arya and instantly he smiled softly as he walked over to his daughter, sweeping her up in his arms without so much as a word.

"Father," Eragon heard Arya softly say as she returned his embrace, "I have returned."

"Even if your visit is but for a short span of time, I am still overjoyed to see you well," King Evandar returned as he pulled away to brush Arya's long hair from her face, softly kissing her temple. As he watched, Eragon could not help but smile. Even if he had changed a key component in the Arya he knew, he would not trade it for anything when he saw the look on Arya's face at her father's love.

"As I am you," Arya returned as she pulled away from her father.

King Evandar spared her one last look before he turned to Eragon. He smiled in welcome as Eragon greeted him first to show his respect. "Your Majesty," Eragon murmured once he had completed the traditional greeting.

"It has been six and twenty years since you have last stepped foot in Ellesméra, my friend," said Evandar when Eragon straightened. "I will not be lying when I say that I am surprised to see that you have returned after having departed so long ago."

"I apologize for delaying my return to Ellesméra," said Eragon glad to focus his attention on something else rather than Arya and Fäolin . "There was much to be done with the Varden and little to no resources to be spared."

"I have heard of your services to the Varden and not only that but Arya had returned with Aegnor's sword as proof that you have done a great service to Alagaësia by ridding the land of one more corrupt Rider," said Evandar, his gray eyes praising.

"You are too kind," murmured Eragon. He darted his eyes to Arya and Fäolin . "However, I did not return to Ellesméra merely for pleasantries, Evandar Könungr…There is an urgent matter I would like to discuss with you."

At his words, Evandar's brows furrowed. He stared at Eragon for a moment before nodding. "Very well," he motioned for Eragon to follow him. Then turning to Arya, he spoke in a softer tone, "Arya, my daughter, once I am finished I would like to see you. There is much I would like to ask you."

"Of course, father," said Arya, her emerald eyes curious. He made to follow Evandar, pausing long enough to take in the sight of Fäolin and Arya standing side by side. It went against reason but in his mind, he could not help but think of them as a fair fit. Arya's elegance and beauty seemed to match Fäolin 's grace and fair features with ease. He despised the thought of them together but could do little else to prevent it.

Turning away from the sight of them together, he continued on his way behind Evandar. Weaving about Tialdarí Hall, past the flowerbeds and the many different shaped rooms and common areas, they eventually arrived to the king's private study. The vines covering the entrance gave way when Evandar spoke in the ancient language, demanding entrance into the large vine walled study.

Stepping inside the study with Evandar, Eragon took a moment to take in the large circular room. There was a beautiful, ornate pinewood desk in the center of the room in which a majestic, cushioned armchair rested behind. On one wall were two fairths, one of Arya and another of Islanzadí. Seeing them side by side, Eragon was struck momentarily by how similar mother and daughter appeared. Tearing his eyes away from the marble slates, he took in the books shelves that covered two of the walls from ground to ceiling, filled with scrolls, voluminous texts, and reports.

Eyes moving away from the bookshelves, he blinked when he caught sight of a glass orb on Evandar's desk in which he saw a deep blue lily resided and then with a blink it was gone to be replaced by a blossoming marigold.

"This was a gift from Islanzadí," said Evandar at Eragon's curious stare. "A century ago, during a spring festival, she presented this to me so that I may see the blooms of the flowers even if I did not leave my study. It was a gift to give color to my days and my duties."

"It is beautiful," said Eragon quietly as he watched Evandar nod, moving about his desk to take a seat in his armchair. He was quiet for a long moment before he whispered in the ancient language and Eragon blinked as the roots from the ground rose up to form an armchair for him to sit in.

"Judging from your willingness to leave the Varden to return to Ellesméra, I believe what you have to say is no light matter," observed Evandar, growing serious.

Eragon nodded, "That it is not, but before we begin, I believe we should ask for Oromis-elda's presence. This matter also concerns him."

Evandar regarded Eragon for a long moment, his brows furrowed before he nodded. He remained quiet for several minutes, his eyes flickering about his study often. Then when Eragon thought he would not speak, he did, "Oromis will join us soon," said Evandar reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"It is for the best that he should," said Eragon.

"Of course," leaning forward on his desk, the king studied Eragon for a moment. "Eragon, I wish for you to be honest with me on this matter," Eragon nodded waiting for the king to continue, "How is Arya truly faring with the Varden? In the seven years that she has departed from Ellesméra, she had only retuned a handful of times before she leaves on duty once more. Though she tells me much of her journey whilst she has the chance, I believe she does not tell me all there is to her life outside of Du Weldenvarden."

"I do not know," Eragon began, "what it is that Arya may or may not have told you, Your Majesty…however, I can tell you honestly that she is working well and hard. Her determination and dedication to our cause is steadfast and even in the face of sorrow or pain, she does not falter."

A touch of pride entered the king's eyes. "She is my daughter."

"That she is," agreed Eragon. He hesitated and then steeling himself, spoke once more, "If I may, Evandar Könungr…it appears as if Arya is rather tense about returning to Ellesméra, particularly about entering Tialdarí Hall…I know it is not my place to ask you of such matters, but, as she has been a good friend of mine for a number of years, I am concerned about her…Has something happened?"

At his question, the king sighed looking more aged than Eragon had ever thought of him. "I would not tell this to anyone who was not a close friend of mine house but you have been a friend of mine house for several decades now. Arya and Islanzadí are at a crossroads. They are too stubborn to concede with one another that they are alienating each other."

"I see," so they were repeating their past arguments once more. Even if Evandar was alive, it appeared as if that did little to influence Islanzadí and her insistence that Arya did not join in the fighting. "I had thought as much but dared not say so."

"Elves are stubborn creatures," said Evandar without a hint of humor in his voice. "And can hold hurts and faults for decades to come if we wish to do so."

"It will come to an end in due time," Eragon reassured him. _All things tend to end. _

"I can only hope so," the king's eyes darted to the two fairths that hung on the wall to their left. "It pains me to see my family at odds with each other."

He was once more reminded of his mother but before he could say anything else, there was a knock on the door. Admitting the person entrance, Eragon blinked at the sight of Oromis. His master looked much older than last he'd seen him at the winter festival years ago. It appeared as if the pain from his crippled state was eating away at him. Standing, Eragon greeted the aged elf as the door to the study closed up once more, protecting them from any unwanted presence.

"Now, may I ask what matter of importance that you have called for me, Evandar Könungr?" asked Oromis as he took a seat in another armchair that the king had called into shape with the ancient language. The study it seemed was attuned to the elf king's wishes and seemed to adjust itself to his needs, observed Eragon impressed.

"I would also like to know that as well," Evandar turned his eyes on Eragon as did Oromis.

Not relenting underneath their stares, he felt his determination harden as he felt the turbulent emotions of the Eldunarí in the pocket of space behind him. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Oromis's eyes flicker in their direction. "Before I speak, I need your word that what I show and tell you will remain a secret from everyone apart from the three of us," said Eragon with a determined look.

"I cannot lie to Glaedr, Eragon," said Oromis softly, his tone contrasting with his own hard expression.

"Nor would I ask you to, it is best if Glaedr knows as well," said Eragon, his eyes turning to Evandar. "However, I need your word for this is a serious matter and I do not want to speak about it without any certainty that this information will not fall into the wrong hands."

They were quiet for a moment before Oromis spoke, "I speak for myself and Glaedr when I say we give you our word that what is said today shall remain knowledge to those present unless you give us the right to speak of it to others."

"Thank you, Oromis-elda," murmured Eragon turning his eyes on the king.

Evandar was quiet for a long moment before he spoke, "I do not like this Eragon but I trust you and your judgment. I give you my word."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," said Eragon. "I know this seemed rather abrupt of me, but I needed reassurance that this be kept a secret for it can change the tide of war." Seeing their curious expressions, he turned in his seat to the pocket in space behind him and began to murmur the incantation underneath his breath. There was a flash of light as the space about the pocket righted itself and four silk pouches were gently lowered onto the ground. With gentle hands, he reached to take them in hand before setting them on the table.

Then with great care, he slid the Eldunarí from their pouches to reveal the four glassy orbs to Oromis's and Evandar's eyes. "This cannot be," breathed Oromis as he stared down at the Eldunarí, having stood in his shock.

"This is…this is the Eldunarí that you spoke of?" asked Evandar in wonder as he reached forward to touch the violet shell of one of the Eldunarí. "The Heart of Hearts of dragons?"

"It is," said Eragon watching as Oromis seem to awaken from his trance to turn his eyes to Eragon.

"How did you manage to obtain them?" the Rider asked, his earlier surprise and amazement gone to be replaced by a look of seriousness. Gesturing for Oromis to resume his seat, Eragon explained to the two about his duel with Kialandí and how he had managed to impale the elf on the spike of his dragon. Then when they made to flee, Eragon had by accident cut the saddle bags free from Kialandí's dragon and when he went to search through the saddlebags, he had come across the Eldunarí.

"And you knew they were Eldunarí?" questioned Oromis.

Eragon nodded. "In my training as a Rider, I was made aware of the Eldunarí. I never gave it much thought until I came across them on Kialandí."

"What does this mean, Oromis?" asked Evandar turning his eyes on the stunned elf. "Why would Kialandí have four of the Eldunarí with him?"

"It can only mean that our assumption was correct," said Oromis in a quiet voice, "Galbatorix and his Forsworn are using the energy of the Eldunarí to control the Empire. It was with their strength that they were able to amass such power to defeat the Riders."

The king's brows instantly slanted and Eragon was momentarily surprised by how furious Evandar appeared at that very moment. He glanced about, half expecting for the study to burst into flames at the intensity of Evandar's expression.

"He is committing the foulest act against the dragons possible," said Evandar darkly.

"Aye," agreed Oromis turning his eyes back to the Eldunarí before turning in his seat to pin Eragon with a sad and yet gratified expression. "You have done the dragons a great service by freeing a few who were in captivity by the Forsworn, Eragon."

"I would never leave them to be abused by the Forsworn," said Eragon frowning. "I have tried to speak with the four of them but their mentalities are wounded to the point that they perceive life outside of their shell as predators waiting to strike at them. It will take time for them to recover."

"And that is why you brought them here," said Evandar as he took the emerald Eldunarí in hand, cradling it like he would a new born babe.

"I could think of no other safe location to have them and with Oromis-elda and Glaedr-elda to help, perhaps they can regain their lost sanity," said Eragon.

"Yes, it is the least we can do as the remnants of a lost order," murmured Oromis nodding his head. "We must help them. Whether it takes us days, months, or years, we shall help them return to what they once were."

"Their existence must be kept secret," said Evandar, turning his gaze to Eragon. "I trust that you will not speak of the Eldunarí freely Eragon. You are a Rider and understand the weight of the secret of the dragons, one that they do not divulge to merely anyone. It takes decades for dragons to trust those with their secrets for they are opening themselves up to potential harm."

"I understand Your Majesty," Eragon murmured. "I shall not speak of the Eldunarí unless you give me permission to do so."

Evandar nodded, pleased with his oath before he turned back to the emerald Eldunarí in his hands once more, his expression borderline sorrow and anger. "To think that Galbatorix would be vile enough to continue his tortures on the dragons whose physical bodies he had done away with."

"Galbatorix has always been capable of committing acts against nature," said Eragon, his eyes narrowing as he thought of the black king. "This should be no different."

"And yet it is," Oromis's expression was one of profound sadness as he stared at the orbs on the desk, each pulsing with its own light. "You have saved but a few Eragon. There are countless others still being tormented and yet only four were rescued. It may seem like a victory when it is but a big loss to us."

"They will not be the last of the Eldunarí that will be rescued," said Eragon determinedly. "You can rest assured, Oromis-elda."

_I will see to it that Galbatorix and the Forsworn understand the consequences of using the Eldunarí in such a_ way.

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**I have been mighty sick these last few days (so please spare me if there are a bunch of errors-don't forget to PM me. The person who did last time was a great help and you know who you are, so thank you! And if you can do it again, even better! I know it's a lot to ask of someone when they're not my Beta but I get all antsy when I have a chapter up that's imperfect). In any case, I was doing a lab and some student (I don't even know how they got into graduate research with me but they did) ended up creating a room filled with horrible fumes that I had to breathe in for three hours. Since my senses are rather sensitive, I ended up getting sick for some time. I was bedridden and couldn't even get up to do my graduate research and all that. It was horrible. I actually felt better today so I decided to upload this chapter. In any case, if I don't update quick I'm sorry but I have to take care of my life as well. Graduate research opportunities don't come every day and I'm studying towards my masters and I'm also bouncing around for jobs and then there's my backpacking trip (England first, France, and then Germany!). Life is getting hectic but it's fun. In any case, I shall work harder now that my sickness has passed. I hope to see you all soon! (And don't forget to PM any errors so that I may fix them!) **


	22. Chapter 22

**Another rather late update. As I asked before, please if you catch any errors PM me so that I may fix them. Hopefully, I should be able to fix all the errors by tomorrow morning. In any case, I wanted to update this chapter now. If you are confused by the small time jump, review or PM and I shall do my best to explain it to you. Besides that, R&R. **

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Glancing up at the sky, Eragon sighed. It was dark and turbulent and on the horizon, he could see great mushrooms of dark clouds approaching. A storm was heading their way. _Of all times, _thought Eragon as he urged his stallion forward. He glanced back at his men, all of whom were on horseback with their cloaks wrapped about them to protect them from the cold. They were worn from the traveling and the scouting that they had to do earlier that day and he knew that asking them to brave a thunderstorm would be asking for too much.

But if they didn't find shelter before the storm hit, their situation would only become worse.

"Easy," murmured Eragon as he comfortingly rubbed his stallion's neck as a loud peal of thunder rumbled through the air, malevolent and ominous. Guiding his steed alongside the Beartooth River towards the Beor Mountains, he frowned trying to think of how long they had before the storm hit.

If there was one thing he'd learned in his years traveling to and fro from Farthen Dûr, it was the fact that one could never win against nature. _At least it is not a blizzard, _thought Eragon. Had it been winter and a blizzard at their forefront, they would have been faced with perilous dangers. Crossing through a thunderstorm would be difficult but possible. However, crossing through a blizzard would be an impossibility.

"Sir!" he turned his head to the man on his right. Several years earlier, he had met Marlow when he was still young and overly eager and ambitious to fight back against Galbatorix and his Forsworn, now he was near his fourth decade, his youth replaced with telltale signs of aging.

"What is it Marlow?" Eragon answered loudly so that he could be heard over the stampede of hooves against the ground as they traveled together.

"We need to stop," Marlow shouted back, leaning over his horse both hands tightly gripping his reins. "Our men say they have spotted movement to our right. I do not believe we should keep our backs turned to potential enemies, sir."

_Movement to the right? _Turning his head, he blinked when the first drop of rain fell against his skin nearly hitting him in the eye. Momentarily distracted, he glanced upwards, surprised that the storm had reached them much faster than he had anticipated. Glancing back in the general vicinity that Marlow had pointed to, he frowned. There were two options opened to him. He could either continue moving through the storm or turn and veer his men off course to investigate the suspicious movement. _Could it be another Forsworn? _

There was a bright flash of lightning in the sky followed by a peal of thunder. The wind, which had but been a breeze had suddenly turned into a whirlwind of air, causing their steeds to falter and whinny while their cloaks flapped about them, whipping at their skin. His decision made, he turned back to his men, all of whom were calming down their surprised horses. "Keep moving! Do not falter!"

Nudging his stallion in his side, he took the lead once more. There was no time to rest and look at whatever it was that was to their right. If they did, they could end up caught in a thunderstorm with no shelter. Even if his men were soldiers that had been trained rigorously since they'd decided to join the Varden, they could not risk getting ill. Ignoring the rain pelting against his body and the wind that seemed to slice at him, he leaned low in his saddle to try and avoid the torrent of air.

_Of all the times, _Eragon thought to himself darkly as another backlash of air caused their company to falter for a moment before the horses paved forward, braving the turbulent storm in hopes of finding an alcove or shelter to wait until the horrid weather passed. He turned back to see his men all white faced and fighting shivers as they clutched the reins of their steeds as if fighting for dear life.

It was early spring and to add to the brisk and chilled air, the rain pouring down on them combined with the screeching wind was enough to make any warm blooded animal freeze. "Keep moving!" Eragon called to them unwilling to surrender to the tempest. Mentally urging his steed to go faster, he grimaced when he heard a shrill noise from above. It was no doubt the sound of the wind ripping through the gaps in the mountains or the sides of the valleys that was making such a hair raising noise.

His cloak clinging to his body and his hair matted to his forehead, Eragon blinked as he was momentarily blinded by a flash of white light. It lasted for only a moment before it was gone but the effect it had was instantaneous. The lightning had struck so close that their horses were momentarily thrown into a panic. Easing his steed with his mind he turned in his saddle slightly to take in his men trying to calm their stallions.

"Hurry! Move everyone!" Eragon ordered, shouting to be heard over the noise of the thunderstorm. Turning about, he continued to urge them forward. The only thing that he could follow in such a turbulent storm was the Beartooth River, which was rushing past angrily, fed by the growing winds of the thunderstorm.

There was another crash of rolling thunder but he ignored it. Teeth clenched and body chilled, he urged his stallions forward. The horses were getting tired, he could see it and if they gave out now, they would be stranded in the middle of a thunderstorm. Blinking at the downpour of rain before his eyes, he let out a breath unnerved by the wasp of air that left his lips. It was too cold. The men would be unable to handle the freezing weather. If they did not find shelter soon, his warriors would no doubt fall prey to fevers.

Their company of eighty continued forward despite the harsh conditions. There was another bright flash of light, a clap of thunder, and then an unearthly shrill screech that made his senses alert. That screech did not sound like the wind howling through the valleys or between the mountains. There was an unearthly and dangerous quality to it that made his hair stand on end. _What was that noise? _

"Sir, it's coming from the right!" Marlow was now shouting to be heard. His right hand in command was drenched to the bone. His hair was flat against his hair and his skin was a pale white. He was no doubt representative of how the others appeared.

Breathing in deeply, he turned his head to his right but could not see well enough past the veil of falling rain to discern any sort of danger. It was also not helping that night would be falling soon and the temperature continued to drop, threatening to freeze them all in place. He was about to ignore the sound before it sounded once more this time closer.

Scowling, he turned to Marlow and raised his voice. "Marlow, take the men towards the right and away from the Beartooth River! Move towards the mountain and see if you cannot find shelter! I shall rejoin you once I have taken care of whatever it is that is following us! Go!"

Just as he spoke, there was a frightful shout behind them followed by the sound of numerous simultaneous clicks and a wet squelch. He turned in his saddle to see a spray of red coat the air, turning a portion of the falling rain into a downpour of red.

He turned back to Marlow, unsheathing Brisingr as he did so. "Go Marlow!"

There was another scream and another squelch. _Another man down, _thought Eragon as he watched Marlow shout to the remaining men in their company to follow him. Whatever it was that was chasing them, it was not out after the others. If anything it would be after him. The certainty that he felt was too great to be ignored. He knew that it was after him. Keeping Brisingr at the ready, he turned in time to see a dark figure swoop overhead, followed by another.

Even in the pouring rain and the water that kept falling into his eyes, he could make out the distinct features. Eyes black, bulging, rimless. A beak seven feet long. Batlike wings. The torso naked, hairless, rippling with muscle and claws like iron spikes.

He thought he saw figures on their backs but was unsure as they flew higher, disappearing into the waterfall of rain and dark gray clouds. The Lethrblaka and the Ra'zac had come for him it seemed. Galbatorix's lackeys were finally here to retrieve what he had lost a year ago. _You are too late, _thought Eragon as he glanced up at the air trying to judge where the two Lethrblaka were. _I have given the Eldunarí to Oromis a year ago. _

The Ra'zac may have found him at the Beor Mountains but they would never be able to break through the enchantment that surrounded Du Weldenvarden where the Eldunarí were safe. There was a whistle in the air and he ducked as a dagger, cloaked in black liquid missed him instead hitting the ground. It was impressive how the Ra'zac could still make sense of their surroundings in the heavy rain, he had to admit.

There was another screeching cry and he fought the urge to shudder. The Lethrblaka had the ability to immobilize their prey with their cry, the shrill screech enough to incite fear into any lesser animal. His stallion was no different. Legs faltering, his stallion began to stumble and before Eragon could try and help ease animal's rampant fear, he saw a figure come towards him from his right. With an almighty slam to his side, he grunted feeling his breath leave him as the Lethrblaka tumbled into him, knocking him from his steed.

Hitting the wet ground, his impact softened by the mud, he blinked momentarily dazed. Then his senses returned to him with a vengeance. Hurriedly rolling to the side as he heard another loud screech, he frowned thoroughly irritated. He was cold, drenched in rain and mud, and now without his men and steed. Like Galbatorix had taught them, he could not sense their minds or their presence. They had successfully shielded themselves from him. _If there is one monster that I can kill, it will be the Ra'zac and their parents. _

Shuffling, his feet he ignored the fact that his boots seemed to sink into the ground before he turned, his ears picking up on a change in sound to his left. Dodging another attack by the Lethrblaka, he brought up Brisingr and with a clean swipe, sliced off the last three feet of its tail. Grimacing in disgust as the blue-green blood of the creature coated the left side of his body, he continued. _Even their blood speaks of their strange nature, _thought Eragon as he smiled in grim satisfaction at the cries of rage.

Dodging to the side as the other Lethrblaka made towards him, he turned catching sight of the dark figure on the creature. The Ra'zac were indeed with their parents. Just as he was thinking of them, a flash of rage coursed through him as he remembered the time in which he and Arya had hung defenseless underneath the citadel in Dras-Leona, waiting to see if there was a means of escape. In his mind he could see Arya tearing her own hand into pieces as she struggled to free them before the Ra'zac could hatch and feed on their bodies whilst they were still alive.

They were not going to get the best of him now. He knew, however, that even if he did do away with the two Ra'zac and Lethrblaka, more would only serve to replace them. The followers of Tosk and his cult were harboring the Ra'zac and their eggs, worshipping them. If he killed them today, more would only come after him. But at least it would be enough to aggravate Galbatorix. If there was one thing that the king detested, it was losing loyal followers…_the Forsworn, Durza, the Ra'zac, Faust, and…me…_

That was the source of Galbatorix's power even if he himself did not realize it. Without followers to do as he commanded, his Empire would not be so fearful to his rule. They manipulated, terrorized, and commanded reverence and respect for Galbatorix while all the king had to do was sit upon his throne and watch.

He turned to avoid the Lethrblaka flying into his once more only to feel a heavy blow to his wards from behind him, sending him toppling forward. Pushing his hands out before him, he easily flipped about, turning in the air to avoid a swipe to his side. Once he was on his feet once more, he drew his magic trying to immobilize one of the Lethrblaka into place. But as their wards had willed it, his magic was all but useless against them.

Dodging another blow, his brows furrowed. He would get nowhere merely dodging attacks. Rather than pulling out Vrangr, he merely tightened his grip on Brisingr, keeping one hand free so that he could use it to right himself when he needed to. Then with great speed, he darted forward moving in a zigzag pattern in order to confuse the Ra'zac. An arrow whizzed by him and he noted the oil that coated the head. _Seithr oil, _Eragon thought with a frown. Sliding his feet against each other, he arched his sword upward as the Lethrblaka flew towards him, one from each direction. The blade of Brisingr sliced through the torso of one of the Lethrblaka and the leathery batlike wings of the other.

Focusing more on the one in which he had sliced through the torso, he jabbed his blade upwards before the beast could hope to pull up, laying open one of its ribs. He heard simultaneous clicks from behind him and ignoring the danger, continued to push Brisingr upwards even if he felt a sharp slice to his shoulder from the long beak of the other Lethrblaka. Feeling warm liquid cascade down his back, burning a path down his chilled skin, he continued. With a great push, he twisted Brisingr and shove the tip of his blade under the jaw of the Lethrblaka before pulling it free.

There was the sound of a wet squelch followed by a spray of more blue-green blood as the body of the Lethrblaka fell to the ground.

On it, he could see the Ra'zac, cloaked in a heavy dark robe. The only feature distinguishable that he could see was its long beak. Ignoring the pain in his shoulder, he darted forward to the defenseless Ra'zac, hoping to take advantage of its sudden impact to the ground to his advantage. There was a whistling behind him and he dodged a dagger to the head. Keeping Brisingr out before him, he brought his sword arm down aiming to cleave the Ra'zac in two but the creature had managed to untangle itself from its dead parent and hiss at him, cursing his name as it did so.

Unable to keep itself up much longer due to the injury that Eragon had dealt to its wings, the remaining Lethrblaka landed allowing the Ra'zac riding it to dismount and join its brethren. All Eragon saw through the continuous veil of rain were two dark figures and a creature that struck fear into the hearts of mortals with its long beak and leathery body.

"Has Galbatorix sent you?" questioned Eragon as they stood opposite each other, face to face.

He saw one of their beaks opened and they inhaled. Inwardly, he grinned. The tactic that they were trying to use on him was not going to work. He was immune to the breath of the Ra'zac which was enough to send any human into a dream like trance.

It closed its beak and the Ra'zac beside it spoke in a disembodied voice that was so unnatural that it made him grip the pommel of Brisingr tighter. "We have been sent to retrieve the Heartsss. Give them to usss."

"I am afraid that your journey here as well as the death of one of your companions was all for nothing," said Eragon watching as they turned to stare at each other as if silently communicating with one another.

The Ra'zac that spoke turned its head back to him and he saw its hand twitch underneath its robe as if moving to grip something. "You are ssstrong for an elf. Very ssstrong," the Ra'zac said as if surprised that he could possess such strength.

"All you do is prey on the weak," Eragon taunted the Ra'zac. "I doubt that you would challenge a foe that would have any hope of defeating you."

"There are three of usss and one of you," the Ra'zac said as it withdrew its claw like hand, showing a gleaming dagger coated with oil. "Give usss what we seek and we shall spare you."

"I do not need your mercy," said Eragon, as he widened his stance, slanting Brisingr to his body. "So there are three of you. In but a few moments, there shall only be two."

With that said, he leapt forward as the Ra'zac moved to attack as well. They were quick just as he thought and the Lethrblaka was just as strong as it tried to weaken his wards. Still only using one sword to fight, he swung left, right, up, and down to block each and every opening his foes sought to utilize. Shifting his feet slightly, he backtracked as he felt a particular soft spot in the ground below his foot. With practiced ease, he kicked at the legs of one of the Ra'zac watching as the creature steadied itself only to stumble as its leg was caught in the soft hole that was created in the ground.

He elbowed the Ra'zac in the head as he parried another blow from the other, making sure to slant his blade so that it could cause the beak of the Lethrblaka to bounce off. But there was one more tactic that he had yet to utilize that he knew worked against the Ra'zac.

It would have to be timed perfectly. His wards were almost worn to nothing and he could only do so much to block constant attacks from every which way. Reaching for his magic, he turned switching Brisingr from his right hand to his left so that he could use his right to cast his spell. He felt the tip of a dagger pierce his right side which was unguarded, carving a groove of flesh from his skin. There was the smell of burnt flesh but he ignored it as he dove through his mental barriers, gathering the energy needed to cast his spell.

"Kveykva!" shouted Eragon.

Red light, bright as the midday sun flared into existence a contrast to the darkening night. It had no source, and illuminated the area about him clearly. To his back was the Beartooth River and before him were the Ra'zac. The sudden blaze dazzled Eragon, momentarily distracting him, but it did more to the two Ra'zac as well as the remaining Lethrblaka. They gave loud shrill screeches trying to cover their eyes from the blinding light.

Regaining his senses, he readied Brisingr in his left hand arching the sword to the nearest of the Ra'zac. With a shout, he watched as the azure blue blade coated in the blood of the Lethrblaka that he had killed earlier sink into the torso of the Ra'zac. _This is for the time I spent underneath your wretched citadel, _thought Eragon in grim satisfaction. He withdrew Brisingr as the red light began to fade. With another slash, he cleaved the Ra'zac in twain. _And that was for making Arya rip her own hand out. _

Letting the halves of the bloody fall to the drenched earth, he turned and dodged the Lethrblaka as it let out an enraged screech. First he had taken the life of one of the Lethrblaka and now, he had killed one of the Ra'zac, one of its children. _Now you understand that I am not an opponent to be messed with, _thought Eragon as he gripped the pommel of Brisingr with both hands once more.

The Ra'zac gave a hiss and he could hear rapid clicking. It then reached underneath its cloak and with great speed threw something towards him. Not seeing what it was due to the rapidness of the action, he brought Brisingr up instinctively to slice whatever it was that was flying his way. There was little to no resistance before a strange violet liquid covered him. He could not feel any sort of effect except for the fact that it covered his eyesight. Dependent on his ears, he turned at the slight hint of sound and dodged what felt like heavy claws ready to gut him.

He heard a whistle to his left and turned once more grunting when he felt something sharp pierce his upper right torso. Jerking back from the attack, he blinked when his foot suddenly came off from the ground and he was falling backwards. A second later, water encompassed him from all sides, threatening to choke him and the violet liquid that had covered his entire front earlier began to burn with a vengeance, almost as if he was in Rhunön's bellow at her forge—as if he was being cooked alive.

Gasping against the pain, he struggled despite the rapid loss of feeling in his limbs. The only thing he could do was sheath Brisingr. The moment his sword was safely sheathed in its scabbard, he felt his energy leave him as a sudden drowsiness swept over his body, trying to protect him from the rampant pain that was erupting through him. He could feel Arya's magic trying to heal his injuries but her magic was not strong enough to heal his wounds and counteract that poisons that he was subjected to.

Darkness flashed in and out and at times as he was casted from side to side from the strong currents of the Beartooth River, he had hallucinations of all sorts. He saw Saphira when she was still young and a hatchling, dependent on him for food. He saw his mother and Murtagh sitting together as they spoke of Murtagh's childhood. He saw Brom young, old, and his father all in one. And then he saw Arya, smiling at him. The vision was replaced to show Arya smiling at Fäolin .

A groan left him as he felt small, strong hands pull him from the current of the river. The world tilting in his eyes, he fought to keep awake and to free himself from whoever it was that was supporting him. He could still feel the rain pelting against his skin and the wind whip against his clothes but elsewise, all of his senses were focused on the great amount of pain that he was suffering from.

He tried to open his mouth to speak with the person beside him but was unable to lift his tongue which felt too heavy. The world was yellow and red and it seemed to spin. At one point in time, he thought he was walking through a field of flowers and the next it felt as if he was drowning once more. Having no other choice but to follow this person, he tried to apologize as his feet were too sluggish for him to move correctly but the petite person, a woman he recognized, did not say anything. She merely continued to help him through the storm and it took him a moment to realize it but eventually, they had found shelter from the pelting rain.

They walked for much longer and the chill made him shiver. But she continued to lead him away from the coldness somehow and eventually, the world was upturned once more and he found himself lying on his back staring up at a beautiful face, framed with midnight tresses and piercing blue eyes. _She was…_but his mind failed him and instead, azure changed to emerald and the features began to shift turning into Arya's concerned face staring down at him.

_Arya…_He wanted to tell her how grateful he was that she had come for him. His mouth fell open but all he heard was a strange raspy sound. Was that him? Arya's expression only seemed to grow more concerned as she reached out with a hand to touch his forehead. He watched in a haze as her red lips parted.

Was she speaking to him?

He shivered as an intense aching coursed through him. Arya's emerald eyes became even more concerned. Her small hands reached down and he felt them unstrapped Vrangr from his back and slide Brisingr from his waist so that he could feel more comfortable. He felt a smile fight its way to his face. She was always thinking of him.

She spoke once more and through his blanketed mind, he could make out her words. "…it will hurt…but…the poison…trust…Eragon…"

Her expression looked as if she was asking him for permission and he forced his head downwards slightly in a nod. Did she understand him? His silent question was answered when her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed. Then she reached down and gripped the object that was embedded in his upper right torso. Without so much as a warning, she pulled it free shocking a gasp from him.

Her hands immediately went to cover his wound and she began to speak softly, her voice lulling him to sleep. In the back of his mind, all he heard was Arya's voice like a soothing river flowing through his soul. Feeling drowsy, he fought to keep his eyes open for the fear of her disappearing when he slumbered tore through him. As if seeing his struggle, she pressed down softly on his injury as if to tell him that he could sleep.

With as much effort as he could, he reached up and fighting back the groan that threatened to tear its way through his throat and out of his lips, placed a hand on top of Arya's small ones. Hers were warmed by his blood while his were still chilled from his time in the river and in the elements of the storm. Trying to force his mouth open, he sought for a way to tell her how he felt. _Arya, thank you…_

When his vision began to slip, a sense of panic overwhelmed him.

_Stay with me…please. _

He had never begged anyone in his entire life part from Saphira, his mother, and Arya. And he was not ashamed to. But the surprise on her face told him that she had not expected such a request. Dimly in the back of his mind, he felt as if something was wrong with this encounter but could not muster up the strength to contemplate it. The only thing he remembered before drifting off was Arya's lips parting and closing as she spoke to him. And then she was gone as a sense of peace settled over him, blanketing him in its dark embrace.

The waking dreams that he suffered were strange and it bothered him. In and out his dreams came and for some strange reason, he could hear a faint musical voice singing. The voice felt familiar but he could not think much on it as his dreams encompassed his entire subconscious.

_Standing on a shore, Eragon blinked glancing about. Where was he? Turning his head, he continued to search the empty shore that stared out at a vast ocean. Was this still Alagaësia? Frowning to himself, he turned his head when he heard the soft crunch of boots against the rocks that littered the sandy ground. _

_His eyes widened at the sight of Arya dressed in her leather outfit, her hair down as she approached him. But she did not dare come any closer than a yard's distance which confused him. Was she bothered by something? _

"_Arya?" asked Eragon cautiously. "Is something wrong?" _

"_Have you forgotten?" she gestured behind him. "Remember your promise to me?" _

_He blinked and turned his head to see a strange ship, docked on the shore where the ocean met land. It was not there before and yet, it had suddenly appeared out of nowhere. "Promise?" Eragon reiterated confused. _

_Her emerald eyes widened slightly in surprise as if she was shocked that he couldn't remember. "You do not remember your promise that we would go see Vroengard together?" _

_Realization swept through him and he nodded, trying to dispel her hurt. "I apologize, Arya. I did not realize you were speaking of that particular promise. Of course, I remember. If there is a ship ready and waiting for us, then let us not delay. Let us go see Vroengard together." _

_She smiled and as he took a step toward her another voice stopped him. _

"_Eragon stay with me," stunned, Eragon blinked as he turned his head. Standing a few feet away from the Arya before him was another one. The only difference being was that this Arya seemed to hold a gentle air to her. At her right hip was an ancient leaf-blade and not Támerlein, which rested on the hip of the other Arya. _

"_Arya?" whispered Eragon in disbelief as he stared at the both of them. _

"_Do you not remember the promise you made to my father?" the second Arya said, her eyes deep with emotion. "You are my only friend Eragon. Stay with me. If you leave me, I shall be alone in a land that is not my own and people whom I share but brief memories with." _

"_Eragon, let us go to Vroengard," the first Arya said as he faltered. _

_He moved to be with her but the other Arya spoke once more. _

"_She does not exist anymore Eragon, your promise to her does not exist," said the second Arya, speaking the deep truth in his heart that only served to pierce him to the bone. "But I exist. I am still here…stay with me." _

But…I…

"_I love you Eragon," the first Arya said holding out her hand to him so that he could take it. "I loved you first. I gave you everything…even now, I still love you. Do not forget my love for you or the promises that we made. Come with me to Vroengard." _

"_Eragon," the other Arya held her hand out, her smile just as familiar as the first. "Stay with me. You are my friend, the only immortal companion I have amongst the Varden. Stay and fight with me. The two of us should be side by side as we were when we spent our days together in Ellesméra." _

I…

"_Eragon…" _

"…_Eragon…" _

"Eragon!"

Groggily stirring from his sleep, he pulled himself from his waking dreams and blinked up at the soft glow of orange light that came from a campfire not far from where he laid. He was lying on soft, warm blankets and vaguely he realized that he was without a shirt and his swords. Alarm shot through him and he fought to sit up but the pain he felt in his side, upper right torso, and arms immobilized him to the spot.

He heard the rustling of movement from the side and a familiar figure entered his line of sight. A breath left him as he stared up at the Elvina's haughty profile which was both beautiful and intimidating. Opening his mouth to speak, he winced when his voice rasped against his throat refusing to be heard. As if anticipating this, she helped him into a sitting position, letting him lean against a rock for support before moving away only to return with a wooden bowl filled with cool water.

Holding it to his lips, she tilted the bowl down so that the water could run its course through his throat relieving him of the dryness that plagued him earlier. "What are you doing here?" asked Eragon wincing slightly as he tested his weak voice.

She sent him a look that clearly said she did not expect to hear those words first thing from his lips. "If you must know, despite being in your rather weaken state, I was wandering about when I saw you, for lack of a better word, float by in the Beartooth River. Of course, I could have let you continue on your way but if I did, my greatest interest would have no doubt drowned."

"I see," murmured Eragon. He glanced down at his bare torso to find that it was healed and raised a brow at Elvina.

"I did not do most of the healing," said Elvina as she gestured to her bags. "I had some antidotes that I usually carry with me whenever I tend to leave the Varden for some time. When I applied it to the poisoned area of your skin, your magic healed the flesh wounds."

He nodded once more, too tired to speak. His hallucinations from earlier as well as the strange dream he had made him want to take comfort in his own solitude. But Elvina would not have that. Instead, she settled herself by his side another wooden bowl in hand and this one steaming with a yellow soup.

"It is merely broth," said Elvina at his questioning stare. "You need to eat so that you can regain your strength." Her expression grew taunting. "And here I thought you were incapable of being injured. It seems as if even you can make simple mistakes every now and then."

Not having the strength to argue with her, he merely swallowed the spoonful of soup that she held to his lips watching as she blinked at his silence. It appeared as if she was not expecting a quiet response. No doubt she was waiting for his sarcastic retort or perhaps his irritated snap.

"What happened?" asked Elvina as she continued to help him eat.

He swallowed another spoonful of soup and after judging that his voice was not going to pain him, spoke softly. "The Ra'zac," he said hoping that she would understand.

She did for her expression immediately became dangerous tinted with a hint of great distaste. "And what were those foul creatures doing so far east?"

"They said they were carrying out a task," Eragon lied uncomfortable with telling Elvina the full truth. She sent him a sharp glare but did not question him. Instead, she seemed to focus her attention on feeding him.

"You are fortunate that I decided to wander near the Beartooth River when I did," said Elvina softly, her haughty expression softening slightly to show something akin to worry. He stared at her surprised. He had thought compassion was far too above Elvina but it seemed as if she was proving him wrong. He watched as she struggled for words as if finding the entire situation difficult and awkward. In a way, she reminded him of himself before he learned how to love others apart from his mother and Saphira. "Else you would have been swept away by the tide of the river."

"Yes," agreed Eragon. It was the first time he had ever agreed with her and he could see that she was once more shocked. It seemed as if she did not know how to handle herself about him when he was not being aloof or annoyed.

Her blue eyes flickered away and he thought he saw a hint of a flush rise up in her cheek as she spoke quietly. "In any case, I am glad that I found you," said Elvina. Perhaps it was merely the glow of the campfire thought Eragon as she held another spoonful of soup to his lips.

He nodded, swallowing the hot liquid. Finding his voice once more, he caught her gaze and held it. Then with the most sincerity he could muster, he spoke quietly hoping that his gratitude permeated his voice. He had never been overly kind to Elvina but after what she had done for him, he would try just this once.

"Thank you Elvina," he said watching as her blue eyes seemed to shine and a flush rise up in her cheeks, this time so strong that he knew it was not the glow of the campfire. He did not voice the thought but watched as she sought to brush off his thanks.

"It seems you have finally learned some manners in the years that I have come to know you," said Elvina, her lips twitched. "Perhaps in another decade you will learn how to greet others civilly in the mornings."

He fought the urge to glare at her but instead turned his eyes to focus on the soup in her hands. Perhaps he had been wrong about Elvina but there was still the sliver of doubt in his heart about the woman, whom in his years of knowing her had not aged. He knew that Elvina was different but he did not know how.

Resigned to merely letting his suspicions fade away for the day, he continued to eat trying to regain his strength. _It was just my hallucination, _thought Eragon as his eyes darted to the fire. _Why would she be here? _Swallowing another spoonful, he blinked when Elvina spoke and for a moment, he heard that soft singing in the back of his mind once more.

_I know that voice…but who does it belong to?_

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**And so we see Elvina lending Eragon a helping hand but...Hmm...In any case, just a relationship I wanted to explore and I also wanted to introduce another opposition that Eragon will have. He's already killed a Lethrblaka and a Ra'zac, that's another change he's made. I wonder what else. In any case, the many speculations about Elvina is rather nice. I guess you'll all find out in a few more chapters. As for Formora...well, let's just say she's a great character to explore. Let's see how this all pans out. Hahaha, Eragon is just finding himself in a bunch of situations! In any case, if there are any errors please PM me but other than that, I hope to see you all soon! (My intentions were to keep you all excited for the next chapter. Did it work?)**


	23. Chapter 23

**So tomorrow is Halloween everyone! Too bad I will be too busy to celebrate. (Personally, for some time now, Halloween has just become my excuse to eat tons of candy-white chocolate only). In any case, there have been some questions for me to answer. 1. Selena is not yet born. She will not be born until a few years later. If I constructed the timeline of the Inheritance Cycle accurately, Selena is around her forties (if she was alive in canon). So she's going to be born in about two more decades I believe. 2. Those who are confused with the time jump by this chapter 41 years has passed since Eragon arrived in this world. And he's known Arya here for about 29 years. And he's been with the Varden for 20 years. (Arya has been with the Varden for 10). 3. There are still 5 more Forsworn to be introduced. 4. Eragon killed one Ra'zac and one Lethrblaka. And with those concerns addressed (hopefully I remembered them all) go on to reading! R&R!**

* * *

"What do you do when you wander about?" asked Eragon as he and Elvina walked side by side through one of the many tunnels underneath Farthen Dûr. She shifted her pack with a thoughtful expression. When she did not say anything, Eragon sighed. He should not have expected Elvina to merely give into his questioning so easily. Resigned to merely accepting the fact that she would always remain a mystery, he stared ahead.

"Why are you so curious as to what I do?" asked Elvina as if she could not wander why he bothered trying to understand her. "Am I that great of a mystery to you?" For some reason, she sounded as if she was displeased by the fact that he could not understand her.

"Yes," admitted Eragon just as displeased by the fact.

"Then it is a mutual feeling," said Elvina pinning him with a stare of her own. "As I am a great mystery to you, you are just as great of a mystery to me."

"If you believe that I shall barter a secret for a secret, then you are sorely mistaken," said Eragon with a frown.

She smiled and once more he felt a sense of uneasiness form in his mind. If only Elvina didn't have such a peculiar personality he would not be so cautious. A part of him understood her and seemed to empathize with her but a greater part of him was always cautious and alert about Elvina. "Then where would the enjoyment be if we were to merely trade what little we know of each other to the other?" Elvina shook her head. "No, I prefer learning what I want to learn on my own terms."

Unbidden by him a shiver ran down the length of his spine at her gleaming eyes. He did not understand what it was that she meant by that but it appeared as if she was being serious enough. Turning away from her, he merely grunted before pushing his way forward emerging from the tunnel he and Elvina had been traversing the length of.

"What will you do now?" asked Elvina as they emerged into the wide open space of Farthen Dûr.

"Report to Weldon," said Eragon simply. That was all he needed to do. Then after he would bathe and rest. The events of the past days had been enough to make him exhausted beyond belief. _No doubt Galbatorix sees me as a potential threat now with a few of his Eldunarí missing. He would be more cautious now. _He frowned. Would that make the retrieval of Saphira's egg more difficult?

Perhaps, he shouldn't wait any long to retrieve the eggs. Rather than sending the thief, Hefring, he could leave the Varden momentarily and carry out his plans. He could steal the three eggs and save all the trouble of depending on a cowardly thief that panicked at the last moment. The only obstacle that would present itself thereafter would be the decision between who would lay claim to the three eggs. Evandar would no doubt want the eggs for the elves but the Varden would no doubt want it for their cause. Then there would the dwarves scrambling to be heard in the arguments that would emerge from each side and their own desires for the eggs and their Riders.

"Will you wander off once more?" asked Eragon as he turned to Elvina when they came to the hall that led to Weldon's office.

She shook her head. "I believe I shall stay for a while longer before my other duties carry me away." With one last look in his direction she turned and gracefully swept away. Shaking his head, he turned and left in the direction of Weldon's office.

When he came upon the guards stationed on each side of the black wooden door worn with time, he fought a chuckle when their eyes widened at the sight of him. He was certain he looked a mess. His tunic was torn, dirt was smudged onto his skin, and his hair a right sight. But that did not make them forget his position in the Varden.

The guard to his right immediately pushed the door open for him to which Eragon gave him a nod. Stepping through the doorway into the spacious office, he blinked when the meeting before him came to a halt. To his surprise, he saw Brom as an extra addition to the others. Weldon, Arya, Orik, and Irvine all stood about the square table in the center of the room studying various maps and layouts of the Beor Mountains.

"It seems as if our worries were for naught," said Weldon with a relieved smile as the door closed quietly behind Eragon. He made his way forward, dignified despite his rather battered looking appearance.

"I do not die easily," said Eragon as he came to a stop beside Arya. After suffering that torturous hallucination back when he was poisoned, he was glad to see her once more. For a moment, there was an expression of utmost relief on her beautiful features before it slid away for an expression that was formal and yet welcoming.

"It is good to see that you have returned, Eragon," said Arya softly as she gazed up at him. He fought a smile as her voice washed over him. If only she'd been by his side when he woke but he could not fault Elvina, she was his savior after all.

"Brom rushed back to Farthen Dûr to tell us that Galbatorix is set after you," said Weldon, his expression growing concerned. "What is it that happened on your journey? Your men returned with Marlow in command and all he was able to tell us is that you were attacked and were forced to split ways."

"We were attacked by the Ra'zac and the Lethrblaka," said Eragon feeling rather pleased when Arya appeared to find the newfound information distasteful, almost as if she did not like the thought of him being ambushed. "A thunderstorm blanketed us and made seeing difficult, luckily only a few of my men perished before we split ways."

"Did they escape?" asked Brom his eyes hard.

"Only one pair did, I killed a Ra'zac and Lethrblaka," said Eragon watching as satisfaction swept across his father's features only to be stamped out.

"This will make Galbatorix all the more irritable. He values the Ra'zac and Lethrblaka greatly due to their skills in hunting their prey," Brom said quietly.

"What of it?" questioned Eragon turning his head to his father, a brow raised as if daring Brom to challenge his capabilities.

"He will only target you with greater ambition," said Brom. The fingers of his right hand tapped against the wooden surface of the table that they stood about. "It can only mean that he has set his sights on you. And from what you have told us thus far, it seems as if he is intent on killing you."

"Perhaps he is," agreed Eragon relaxed while the others appeared tensed and grim faced as if Brom had announced his funeral. "That does not deter me in any way. He can send as many lackeys as he wants after me, I will not be defeated easily."

"Even so, it will be best if you are cautious where you travel now," Brom warned. He inwardly scoffed. He was not going to be a coward and merely do as he was told and stow away. He was already in enough danger as it was, whether or not he had irritated Galbatorix by taking the Eldunarí he did not know but it did not bother him in the slightest.

"I will take that thought into consideration," said Eragon with a nod of his head to Brom.

"And we will also have to take precautions as well," said Brom eyeing the map that had the tunnels laid out before them. "We will need more guards patrolling the perimeters and such."

"No one will escape from having their minds searched," added Eragon as he folded his arms over his chest as Brom spoke. His father nodded and they set out to increase the defenses about the Varden so that the possibilities of spies would be close to eliminated.

The meeting went on for several hours and he was glad when Weldon called for a cease in planning. "We have planned since the crack of dawn and I believe that Eragon should be given time to rest after his journey," said Weldon eyes flickering to Eragon.

"That would be much appreciated," said Eragon with a nod as he watched as everyone moved towards the door. He went to do so stopping when Weldon called out to him once more.

"I will not keep you but tomorrow by early morn if you can come see me Eragon, I have matters of importance to discuss with you," said Weldon, his face appearing tired and aged. Sympathetic towards the leader of the Varden, Eragon nodded and was the last to leave the room.

Just as he had promised himself earlier, the moment he'd returned to his room he had stripped himself of his ruined clothing and immediately went to bathe in his washroom. Then in merely trousers, he slipped beneath the covers of his lush bed allowing himself to sink into the mattress and sleep.

Nothing came to him that night apart from flashes of memories that revolved around two worlds and people who were the same and yet different. Content to merely sleeping his entire day away until Weldon called for him, he blinked when he heard the sound of his door opening. Brows furrowed, he groaned when a bright voice called out to him.

"Are you awake, Eragon?"

"What do you want at this time of day?" groaned Eragon as he peeled an eyelid back to take in the sight of Angela closing the door behind her to bustle about his room. Feeling frustrated he merely turned away hoping to whatever greater divinity that existed that Angela would just leave the moment she came.

However, it was never so with Angela. "Eragon," he grumbled when he felt the presence of the witch beside his bed. The opportunity to sleep in always passed him by and he was not going to let it do so now. Refusing to sit up, he laid there hoping that his reluctance to actually move would deter Angela.

"Get up," she said as if she was directly next to him. For one strange moment he had a fleeting feeling of panic. It seemed wrong and obtuse of him to even allow Angela entrance into his chambers. _It is just Angela, _Eragon thought to himself and as strange as it sounded, she was his only close confidant at the moment—at least until time righted itself, if it ever did.

Calmed with that thought in mind, he continued sleeping only to be rudely awoken when he felt a small hand slap at his face, chasing all notions of sleep from his mind. Irritated, he sat up and turned to Angela, eyes narrowed and lips curled back ready to snap at her.

He would have except for the fact that she pushed a bowl of emerald liquid underneath his nose. The smell reached his delicate senses and he nearly gagged for a moment. Was she trying to poison him in his sleep? "Have you lost it?" Eragon asked finally as he stared at her aghast. Her features appeared eerily distorted over the glow the liquid seemed to have on her face.

"Me? Well, no one truly is _sane _really," said Angela as she contemplated his words. Then her eyes narrowed as she reached out and poked him where he was injured during his fight with the Ra'zac. "Elvina told me that you were poisoned during your little skirmish with the Ra'zac and the Lethrblaka and it looks as if she was right. Her herbs and antidotes have only worked to a certain extent but there is still some residue left. With enough time, it can seep into your skin and silently do away with you."

She poked him roughly once more causing a stinging sensation to erupt throughout his body. "Stop touching me," said Eragon as he swatted her fingers away.

She harrumphed and tossed her hair, glaring at him. "If you would but sit still and let me apply this to your wounds—"

He stared at her with a raised brow. She bristled at his look and opened her mouth to say more but was stopped short when there was a light knock against his door followed by a beautiful accented voice. "Eragon?"

"Perfect," murmured Angela and before he could stop her, she set the bowl down on his bedside table and swept towards the door opening it to reveal Arya. He saw from where he sat on his bed how Arya's eyes widened slightly at the sight of Angela before her, never before expecting the witch to be the one greeting her in _his _doorway. "Ah, Arya, just the person I needed."

"Am I interrupting something important?" asked Arya appearing a slightly bewildered.

Angela shook her head and immediately guided the elven ambassador into his chambers. "No, of course not," said Angela as she turned her head to give Eragon a rather smug look. Since she had found out the truth behind his existence, Angela had been intent on observing every little aspect of his life. Unfortunately, her observation had extended to Arya and she appeared to have an inkling as to why it was Eragon seemed to treat Arya so differently from others. "All you missed was Eragon acting like a spoilt child."

"Spoilt?" Arya frowned as if feeling offended for him that Angela had insulted him.

"Yes, spoilt," said Angela as if Arya had agreed with her rather than questioned her. "Perhaps you can remedy that flaw in his character."

"And perhaps you can see yourself out Angela," said Eragon with a scowl as he pinned the witch with a glare. She was starting to remind him of Elvina and her own bad habit of letting herself into his chambers. "If I recall, uninvited guests are never welcomed."

"Well then, I suppose I shall be leaving," the herbalist said much to Eragon's surprise. She never gave in to his intent easily. He watched as she reached for the bowl that she had set on his bedside table before handing it to Arya, who blinked at her owlishly. "If you would see to it that he applies this on his wounds from earlier for me Arya, I would sleep easier knowing that the spearhead of all our efforts isn't going to die silently in the night."

With that said, she waved merrily at them and swept out of the room closing his door shut behind her. Eragon sighed, reaching up to run a hand through his hair and wincing at the sudden pain that erupted all over his front side. That had certainly not been there earlier. He watched with cautious eyes as Arya tentatively pulled a seat up to his bedside, elegantly settling herself down alongside his bed.

The part of him that longed for Arya's touch over the years they'd spent side by side wanted to reach out and lift her up in his arms and press her to him. It was odd to think that he knew exactly how she felt against him when theoretically, he and Arya had never been more than friends in this world. But in his mind, he had memories of his time with her. He knew how soft her skin was, how warm her body was, how she relaxed she could become in his arms, and how responsive and passionate she was. Though he was certain that if the Arya before him had any inkling that he was thinking about her inappropriately she would be very offended. Pushing the thoughts from his mind, he turned to Arya with an apologetic smile.

"It is unnecessary Arya," said Eragon lifting a hand to gesture to the bowl in her hands. "You do not need to tend to me. You are no doubt needed elsewhere."

An expression passed on her face and he watched as she slowly shook her head. "You have always came to my aid when I needed assistance," said Arya appearing rather stubborn at the moment. "It is only right that I help you in your time of need." Then her lips lifted into a smile, "You are my friend Eragon. I do not mind helping you if it means that it will ease your pain."

His heart thudded at her words and he watched as she reached down with her left hand and coated her palm in the green liquid that rested in the wooden bowl in her right hand. Then with deliberate movements, she reached up and gently rested her hand against the injury on his chest.

Instantly he felt his body warm to her touch. Glad that his skin did not noticeably flush he could not help but watch as she applied the antidote to his skin, her brows furrowed as if she was in deep concentration.

After a long moment of silence, Arya spoke. "Does it hurt much?"

"My injury?" asked Eragon. She nodded her head, her emerald eyes flickering to his before coming back to rest on his chest where she was still gently applying the antidote to his skin. He could feel a slight stinging sensation to it still but the pain that had induced his earlier hallucinations was gone. "Not as much as I had before. I suppose I ought to thank Angela for seeing to it that I do not slip away in the silence of the night."

He blinked when he felt the slight increase of pressure of her hand against his chest. "What happened?"

Never one to deny Arya an answer, he described to her what happened during his travels back to the Varden with his company of eighty soldiers. It was fascinating to watch her reaction to his story, thought Eragon. The Arya before him did not keep most of her emotions guarded. In fact, he could not remember a time when Arya sought to ever censor her thoughts or emotions from him. Was it because she did not understand the true agony of war yet?

_The true agony of war isn't being wounded yourself, it's having to watch those you care about being hurt. _

His heart tightened at the thought of Arya suffering the loss of a loved one or a friend due to the perils of fighting. He did not want her to understand the words she had told him in his own time. He wanted to protect her but yet at the same time, he knew that if he sheltered her he would only serve to staunch the blossoming of an Arya that understood the risks of fighting and the precious value of life.

As he told her of his fight with the Ra'zac and the Lethrblaka, he watched as her expression changed to distaste to concern and then to relief. Did she trust him that much that she did not see the need to guard herself around him? He found himself feeling rather lighthearted.

"Elvina saved you?" asked Arya quietly as he turned slightly allowing her to rub the antidote onto his upper back where the poison had traveled after it had landed on his front due to the wind.

"She was wandering about once more," said Eragon hoping that those words were explanation enough for Elvina and her strange behaviors. "She saw me float by in the Beartooth River and came to my aid. Had it not been for her I would have been fatally wounded and no doubt hallucinating from pain and poison combined."

"Elvina…certainly is strange," murmured Arya pausing as her emerald eyes connected with his. He blinked, feeling himself become lost with their depths. "She reminds me of Rosalie…she never ages, not even in the nine years we have known her has her appearance changed."

"It is strange," said Eragon with a frown as he was once more reminded of how unnatural Elvina appeared. "But there is no reason to distrust her. She has not caused any trouble during her stays with the Varden and she was willing to comply with having her mind being searched." _And yet, I still find myself unable to trust her fully. _"She gave us no reason to distrust her apart from her rather aloof disposition and oftentimes affronting nature."

"That she hasn't," agreed Arya, she paused once more and he had to stop the sound that wanted to escape his lips as she seemed to be absentmindedly caressing his shoulder blades, the coolness of the antidote adding to the effect. "Elvina has a strange interest in you, Eragon."

"You are not the first to notice," said Eragon wryly. He sighed lightly, "I have nothing to offer her—or any one for the matter—and she still insists on holding her interests to me alive." That was true enough. He had nothing to offer Elvina or anyone else. Not even Arya. In this world he was nothing. Yes, there were those who called him the spearhead of the Varden alongside Weldon but apart from that what did he have to offer to others?

"That is not true," said Arya and he could tell from her tone of voice that she was frowning. "You have much to offer." His eyes flickered to her and for a moment he thought he saw a slight tinge of red to her cheeks but her hair shifted as she moved to reach another spot on his back where the poison had seeped into his skin.

"In any case, I would not worry about Elvina too much for now," said Eragon as he remembered what Brom had said. He had killed a pair of Ra'zac and Lethrblaka. In his time, there were two pairs of the foul creature and its parent. Now, he had changed it unless the cult of Helgrind allowed another egg to hatch. He frowned at the thought. Not only that but nine of the thirteen Forsworn were still alive and though Brom was devising strategy after strategy to kill them off, it bothered him to know that so many of Galbatorix's lackeys were roaming Alagaësia. And then there was Durza doing whatever he pleased.

And then there was Faust.

His eyes narrowed dangerously as he remembered the man who had tortured him as a child. He did not know much of Faust's history apart from when he served Galbatorix. It would be hard to find the man since his background was just as elusive as his nature.

"Does it not frighten you?"

He blinked as he heard Arya's voice pierce his thoughts. Did what frighten him? He turned his head to stare at her, blinking as he felt her warm breath wash over his neck slightly. Instantly he was reminded of all the times Arya had rested her head against his shoulder or in the crook of his neck. His tender affections for her coursing through his veins, he turned to find her staring at him in worry.

"Does what frighten me?" asked Eragon softly knowing that they were broaching a sensitive subject. In the many years that he'd known Arya in this world, he was able to build a mutual relationship of trust and friendship with her. And he hoped that whenever she learned of his true nature that she would forgive his deception.

"The fact that it seems as if Galbatorix is intent on your death," said Arya quietly as if she could not bring herself to speak of it any louder.

She was concerned for his safety, Eragon thought surprised, touched, and pleased all at once. Maybe she considered him a dearer friend than he thought he was worth to her. He twisted slightly as she reached for more of the liquid to coat her hand in before she reached up to smooth it over the rest of his injuries.

"Dying does not really frighten me," said Eragon quietly watching as her hand stilled and she lifted her head towards him, her eyes bright. "I should have died decades ago but I did not and I was given a chance to keep living while I was robbed of my loved ones. Dying…is a natural process of life, Arya. The only difference is that some die sooner than others. No one can escape death, not even Galbatorix. If Galbatorix is out for my blood, I will not cower in fear. But I can tell you that I do not intend on dying any time soon. There is still much to be done here with the Varden."

She did not say anything but began to gently ease the antidote onto his skin once more. Her silence spoke volumes and he understood what it was that she could not bring herself to say. She did not want to lose him.

"_Do you not remember the promise you made to my father? You are my only friend Eragon. Stay with me. If you leave me, I shall be alone in a land that is not my own and people whom I share but brief memories with." _

Her words from his nightmarish hallucination came back to him with a vengeance. He swallowed as his eyes darted to Arya. Was this all just too much of a coincidence? Or was it something else entirely?

"_Eragon, stay with me. You are my friend, the only immortal companion I have amongst the Varden. Stay and fight with me. The two of us should be side by side as we were when we spent our days together in Ellesméra." _

"You should be healed from the antidote," said Arya as she started to withdraw her hand. Thinking of his hallucination, he reached out to take her hand feeling his heart ache at the fact that he could not reach out and take the hand his Arya had offered to him in his hallucination.

"_I love you Eragon. I loved you first. I gave you everything…even now, I still love you. Do not forget my love for you or the promises that we made. Come with me to Vroengard." _

_I know you loved me first Arya, _thought Eragon as he stared at the deep emeralds before him drinking in the surprise that was present in her jaded eyes. Despite the coolness of her hand from the antidote, he felt as if his hand was ablaze with warmth. Trying to rein in his feelings, his grip tightened on her hand as he lowered his head towards her to speak to her in a serious voice, the ancient language flowing from his lips.

"No matter what, Arya," murmured Eragon as he gazed at her willing for her to understand the depths of his feelings for her even if he himself did not know anymore how he felt towards this Arya. In his heart, he loved Arya whether it be the one before him on his Arya. Because they were the same person, because they were the same elf princess divided by two different worlds. "I will keep fighting for my life. Even in the face of death itself, I will not surrender until my last breath. I will not die easily."

Her surprise seemed to only heighten as his words washed over her and after a moment, she nodded a faint smile gracing her features as she squeezed his hand gently to show that she understood his words. Reluctantly, Eragon released her hand watching as she stood and navigated about his chambers. Gesturing her towards his washroom, he waited patiently for her to return after she washed her hands. While she did so, he moved to don his tunic. Perhaps Arya would be more comfortable if he were fully clothed.

When she exited his washroom, he was sitting on the edge of his bed, lacing up his leather boots. He glanced up at the sound of her footsteps turning to her as she resumed her seat by his bed. "Are you feeling better now?" asked Arya her eyes darting to his clothed torso.

"The pain has gone," said Eragon with a slight smile. "Thank you, Arya."

"It is of little concern," she said quietly as she watched him.

"Even then it means much to me," said Eragon honestly as he lowered his foot onto the ground having finished tying the laces of his right boot. He turned to her, this time the one curious. "Was there something you needed of me Arya? That is before Angela forced you into tending to me."

The gleam that he had come to find endearing appeared in her eyes once more and he could not help but feel his smile widen. "I was hoping that if you were not busy or tired that perhaps you would walk with me about Tronjheim," suggested Arya. "We have been busy as of late and have had little time to speak with each other as friends should."

"Then let us go," said Eragon standing. Her rewarding smile warmed his blood. Strapping Vrangr to his back and sliding Brisingr into place on his left hip, he followed Arya out of his chambers. As he closed the door, he noted the small piece of folded paper tucked in the he corner of the doorway. Curious, he bent to pick it up, unfolding it to find neat handwriting etched on the parchment.

_You are welcome rude one. _

_Meddlesome herbalist, _thought Eragon as he crumbled the piece of paper in his hand tucking it away in his pockets. He turned to find Arya standing a few paces ahead of him waiting for him to join her company. Walking towards her, he could not help but feel an intense sense of longing in his heart for the Arya that knew who he was—for the Arya that was his mate. But instead, he pushed the thought aside and fell into step beside Arya. And like they had perfected since their time together when Arya was younger, the two of them began to wander about together speaking of everything and of nothing.

Perhaps one day during their wanderings they would stumble upon the flower that Arya had spoken about to him long ago. For now, he was just content to be by her side.

The following day as Eragon had promised Weldon, he had arrived in his office at the crack of dawn surprised to only find the leader of the Varden waiting for him and no one else. He had thought that perhaps Irvine would be present but it seemed that Weldon only wanted to speak to him.

"You must be wandering why I only asked for your presence today, Eragon," said Weldon with a smile as he regarded Eragon. He remained silent waiting for Weldon to continue. "It is odd to think that I met you in the prime of my youth and now here we are years later. And you are as I remembered you, forever unchanged by the mark of time while I am near my middle years."

"And your mind is still as sharp as I remembered when I had first met you," said Eragon softly.

"You are too kind," said Weldon as he leaned back in his armchair to observe Eragon, folding his fingers together. "You are an old friend of mine Eragon, one that I trust without hesitation and question. In all my years leading the Varden you have been a great advisor and confidant to me. You have helped create a group that can be proudly called a group fighting for independence against Galbatorix and for that I thank you," uneasy with the way the conversation was moving, Eragon waited for Weldon to continue. "I asked for your presence today because I want you to be the first to know what it is that I would like to do next with my life, old friend."

"What is it that you wish to do, Weldon?" asked Eragon patiently waiting for Weldon to speak.

"I believe it is time I stepped down from the mantle of leader and give my position over to someone who is young and fit to lead the Varden into a new generation."

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**There is about 58 more years before time catches up so there will plenty going on in the following chapters after this. The fact that Weldon is retiring is going to show how things are going to be changing now since a new leader will be chosen for the Varden. This chapter I guess is just to show how important of a friend Eragon is to Arya and I'm thinking of writing another Arya POV so that we can see more of her character development some time soon and see how she regards Eragon, Faolin, Elvina, etc. To those who addressed some concerns, I don't think I'm going to be writing often when my backpacking trip starts but I hope I don't disappear at long lengths of time. That would be horrible! I like this story too! In any case, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! I hope to see you all soon. **


	24. Chapter 24

**So how was everyone's Halloween? I had a rather splendid time with my friends. But we shall not speak of that. Anyways, this chapter is a filler and the next one will feature a time jump and it will be somewhat confusing but I shall try my best to weave the explanation into the chapter itself. Anyways, we have some ways to travel still and I'm starting to feel a writer's muse coming on. (I wish there was medicine to this). In any case, since nothing really stood out to me in the reviews I'll let you all read happily. (Oh, if you see any mistakes PM me!) R&R!**

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"And so I would like to tell you all that I have made my decision to step down as leader of the Varden," concluded Weldon as he gazed about the table, his eyes darting from face to face. While his own expression remained passive, Eragon took a mild interest in studying those about him. His father, who sat across from him, was frowning slightly but there was a look of understanding in his blue eyes. Beside him, Orik appeared surprised, for his eyes were wide and his lips pursed. Turning his head slightly, he tried to discern Arya's expression.

An indifferent façade dictated her appearance but he could tell from the slight shine in her eyes that there was a slight gleam in her irises that he knew was one of sadness and yet acceptance. In the years she'd served as her father's ambassador, she had developed a steady friendship with Weldon and to see him, aged and unable to continue fighting, must have been a blow for her. _And slowly, a piece of that dream in which you can dance and sing without feeling impending doom is chipped away, _thought Eragon as he fisted his hands underneath the table.

Moving his eyes away from Arya, he turned to the Council of Elders. Their expression varied from shock to satisfaction and to triumph as if they were the victors in this situation.

Eydis, now aged and gray-haired leaned forward in her seat, her piercing eyes traveling from Eragon to Weldon. "And pray tell who it is that shall be filling in your position as the leader of the Varden once you've stepped down."

Weldon frowned, his eyes darting to Eragon. "I had planned to ask Eragon to take control," said Weldon quietly. Instantly everyone about the table stiffened, turning their heads to face him. Unperturbed by suddenly becoming the focus of attention, he relaxed in his seat as he waited for Weldon to speak. "However, he has expressed a desire to pursue his own interests whilst helping the Varden as he had been doing for the past twenty years. He has no desire to be leader of the Varden."

Just like that, the tension about the room eased significantly. For a moment, Eragon felt somewhat offended that they believed him incapable of leading the Varden but he let the moment pass. Instead, he focused his attention on Weldon as he spoke.

"That would leave the matter of finding someone to take up the mantle as leader of the Varden," said Weldon. Despite being in his middle years, he still spoke with authority and force showing that he still had the capabilities of being heard and understood.

"I believe that the process of finding a successor is a task that should be left to the Council," said Berthold, who was very quick to let his thoughts be heard. The rest of the Council of Elders nodded, showing that they agreed with Berthold's thoughts.

"Your opinions may hold some weight," said Eragon speaking up for the first time since the beginning of the meeting. He straightened slightly in his seat to adopt a posture that he had come to think of as a needed part of his ensemble for his imperious demeanor. "However, do not forget that Orik and Arya also have as much say in the matters of determining a successor to Weldon."

Karvel looked mutinous but he nodded. "Of course, we would not go about choosing a successor without the opinions of our allies." His expression was sour as if he had swallowed a whole lemon. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see the slight upturn of the corners of Arya's lips but as soon as it was there it was gone.

"In any case," said Brom after there was a few minutes of silence in which they all thought to themselves about the direction of the Varden after Weldon stepped down. "Do you have someone in mind as of yet?"

"Deynor," said Eragon without hesitation. Though Deynor was desperate during his time, Eragon could not see another person left to lead to lead the Varden. He did not want to risk allowing the Varden to stray too far off course as he had remembered it. He lifted his head to pierce Weldon with a somber expression. "He has proven to be an able commander and leader."

"Deynor," murmured Weldon while Berthold glanced at Eragon with a frown.

"You are suggesting a man you've trained?" he asked as if displeased with the thought.

"Does it bother you?" asked Eragon turning his head to Berthold. He could see the man's jaw clenching and unclenching but he did not say anymore.

Saldís, having apparently had enough of her own silence, spoke for the first time during the meeting. "Why not someone other than a commander? Perhaps someone more fluent in the ways of politics and leading."

"And who do you suggest holds such standards as yours?" Eragon cut across her firmly. He refused to let the Council of Elders gain any holdings in the proceedings. Each time they tried to advance, he would firmly force them to retreat. They needed to know that their own self-interests came second to the interest of the Varden. "Deynor is a fit commander and he understands the way of leading a group of people. I see there's no reason as to not having him as a potential leader."

He could see hard expressions on the faces of the members of the Council of Elders but the others appeared differently. Orik appeared to be fighting a smile while his father looked amused. His eyes darted to Arya and there was a touch of satisfaction in her expression. _I understand now why Arya was so upset with me when I had agreed to swearing fealty to Nasuada, _thought Eragon. The balance of power was a sensitive matter in regards to the Varden and he could not have any one upsetting it.

"Eragon has suggested Deynor," said Weldon as his eyes swept across the table. "Does anyone have any other particular person in mind that they believe would fulfill the post as leader well enough?"

"If Eragon," Arya spoke softly, her rich and accented voice lilting in tone as it washed over their ears. "Believes Deynor to be a capable leader then I shall not argue with him. His judgment has never failed us before. The king would not be opposed to supporting one such as Deynor."

Trying not to look too pleased at her words of certainty, he fought a smile when Orik nodded with a grunt. "Aye, my thoughts are the same as Arya. Eragon has never led the Varden astray in his suggestions and opinions. He has been a steadfast ally of the Varden."

With the two of them having voiced their thoughts, Eragon could see that the Council of Elders was hard pressed to argue their point. _Even if they can think of a puppet to manipulate, Arya and Orik would never agree to it, _thought Eragon rather satisfied. It was somewhat odd for him to think it, but over time he had grown to become a master at politics. He understood the workings behind others self-interests and knew how to counter them. Not only that but he could effectively corner those when the time called for it. There wasn't a time in which he was unable to turn tables in his favor. _Trust comes a long way it seems. _Having Orik, Arya, and Weldon behind his suggestion made him confident that the Council of Elders would have to give in to his intent.

There was a long pause in the meetings before Berthold, his eyes narrowed and his jaw visibly clenching, spoke. "Then let us call for Deynor and see how he views this proposal," said Berthold acquiescing to his suggestion. Seeing how their most outspoken member had relented the rest had no choice but to follow behind.

He sat back in his seat satisfied as Weldon sent for a runner to fetch Deynor. He was content to merely sit there in silence as was everyone else. There wasn't much else to talk about while they waited for Deynor. Instead, he let his mind wander. Was it wise of him to pick Deynor as a successor? The only fault he remembered about the man was that he was desperate to strengthen the group of magicians in the Varden. Elsewise, he was an apt leader and had led the Varden until Ajihad had taken over.

Deynor was also the person in charge at the time when Thorn's egg was stolen. He had also made the mistake of accepting the twins into the Varden. Resting his elbow on the armrest of his chair, he rested his chin in his palm as he thought. When were the wretched twins going to show their traitorous faces? They were the ones who had been steadily giving vital information of the Varden to Galbatorix. They were also the reason why Arya and her companions had been ambushed on their return to Farthen Dûr. If they ever did show their faces, he would not hesitate to do away with them on sight.

He was jolted from his thoughts when the door to their chamber opened and the younger runner by the name of Kal appeared, timid and hesitant. He announced Deynor's arrival and Eragon watched as the young blond haired man that he had trained when he was younger stepped through the door. He was not as tall as Weldon but his build showed him as a fit and trained warrior. His brown eyes were dark and they seemed to hold everything at a distance, as if silently judging what they saw.

"You called for me sir," said Deynor quietly as Kal was dismissed.

"Yes, please take a seat Deynor," said Weldon gesturing to the lone seat at the end of the rectangular table opposite the leader of the Varden. The young man moved to do so looking as if he was unsure of himself and why he was called so suddenly. "Do not worry Deynor, you were not called her to be punished or reprimanded."

"We called you here," said Karvel shooting Eragon a fleeting look of distaste, "Because we believe that you have the skill and capabilities necessary to be the next leader of the Varden."

If Deynor was surprised, he hid it well. Impressed, Eragon focused his attention on the man. He had been correct to not change the history of the Varden thought Eragon. Deynor's attitude reminded him somewhat of Nasuada when she was chosen as the next leader of the Varden. He was calm and appeared to be in control of his emotions and actions. It was very interesting thought Eragon as he sat back in his seat to observe Deynor. To think he would be a deciding factor in choosing the next leader for the Varden. He almost wanted to laugh aloud.

"You have proven to be a worthy commander," said Weldon, eyes and voice serious as he observed the man who could possibly be the person to succeed him. Would he pass their test? The first time Deynor was chosen as the successor to Weldon but he had no information nor any sort of reason to trust that it would go just as smoothly this time. His presence could have a big impact as well as the fact that he had suggested Deynor as a potential successor. "And as such you have the fortitude and the capabilities of leading a great group of people such as the Varden."

"However, if you find yourself incapable of carrying out such an important obligation we will not force an unwilling person into such a spot," said Eydis smoothly as if willing Deynor to understand her train of thought. Eragon frowned. If Deynor was as competent as he gave him credit for than the man would not bow his head to the Council's demands.

Would he understand what it took to be a leader?

He stared at Deynor hoping that the man would not give in and show any sort of weakness to the Council. His worries were unfounded for Deynor merely straightened in his head with a proud expression, his chin held high. "It is an honor that you would turn to someone such as myself from but a humbled and quiet background to lead the Varden. If you consider me to be fit to lead, then I shall hold myself honorably and do so."

He fought the urge to grin at the looks on the members of the Council of Elders. They appeared to look as if they had be struck violently. They last straw for command had not swayed their way and it appeared as if they were once more forced to take another step back.

"To hear you say that puts my worries at ease," said Weldon with a smile as he gave Deynor an appraising look.

"Then let us ask you now Deynor," said Eragon as he turned to the man, who tensed at the sound of his voice. Amusement coursed through him, "At ease, whether or not your reply is favorable I shall not make you run laps thereafter."

"I apologize," Deynor said looking rather embarrassed at his own reaction.

Eragon pushed it aside. He understood the man's sudden response to his voice. It was a known fact that he was harsh on all of those he'd trained and Deynor was no exception. To rise to the post he had as a commander below Irvine, he had to survive the strictest of trainings that Eragon had set out for him. His response to Eragon was no doubt out of reflex.

"Are you willing to pledge yourself to the cause of the Varden no matter the cost?" asked Eragon seriously. "It will be more than what you are doing now as a commander. It will involve more than merely fighting but rather it will involve you trying to make a life for those who lost theirs to Galbatorix. Are you confident that you could uphold yourself honorably and carry out what you believe to be right and just for others who do not have the power to make the decisions themselves?"

He was quiet for a moment as he gathered himself but Eragon could tell that his words had shaken Deynor to the reality of what they were proposing. No longer would he be in command of merely fighting but he would have to take the lead and teach the others how to properly _live. _

Determination shining in his eyes Deynor nod. "I am willing to pledge all that I am to the Varden's cause, without a doubt."

"Strong words," said Brom with a look of approval as Weldon nodded, pleased by Deynor's determination.

He glanced to Arya and spoke, "Will the elves have any objections? Or rather, are there any opinions that you would like to say, Arya?" Weldon asked the quiet elven ambassador who had been quietly surveying Deynor.

She turned to the leader of the Varden, her eyes dark before she shook her head. "I cannot speak for my king but I find nothing objectionable to it. Deynor has my blessing." Weldon nodded before turning to Orik to ask if he had any objections to which he merely shook his head.

After that, they had planned to make an announcement to the Varden as a whole using the underground amphitheater to do so. While they were preparing, Eragon merely watched the ongoing events only speaking when necessary but he found himself distracted by a sudden thought that gripped at him. He had been living in this world for nearly forty two years now and this was another moment that brought to the forefront the realization that he had been living the false life he had built for himself for longer than he did his own life.

If he thought about it, he wouldn't be born until another four decades passed. _The moment of convergence, _thought Eragon his eyes flickering to the others as he felt a change in the conversation but there wasn't anything important for him to take part of so he remained quiet. His eyes darted to Arya and he wondered for a brief moment what would happen if she found out the truth about him. Would she believe him? Would she hate him for lying to her? Would she believe that he manipulated her into doing what she did up to now? He wanted answers but he couldn't bring himself to ask it of her.

Instead he merely tightly gripped the armrest of his armchair.

"It is decided," said Weldon shaking Eragon from his thoughts. He blinked as he felt the finality of the conversation sink in. Were they done for the day? "Three days from now, we shall begin have Deynor sworn in as the new leader of the Varden."

When all eyes turned to Eragon he nodded. They would be setting a new precedent for the people of the Varden since they had never had the need to decide a new leader for the Varden until now. Everything had to go accordingly else, the structure of the Varden would be shaken. "I see no reason as to not proceed," said Eragon showing his thoughts on the matter. No one questioned him. When the meeting was called to an end, he stood and exited much in the same process as everyone else did.

Before he did though, he paused when Deynor approached him. He bowed his head formally and brought his fisted right hand up to lay over his heart, a salute that showed fealty and respect—a salute that he had made for the soldiers of the Varden.

"You need not continue such decorum, Deynor," said Eragon with an amused smile. "In a few days' time you shall be the new leader of the Varden."

"In a few days' time I shall be the new leader," agreed Deynor with a nod. "But I am still a soldier and you have been with the Varden since before I was born. It is only right that I continue to pay you my respects whether I am the leader of the Varden or not. You have taught me what it was that I needed to bring me here today."

"It appears as if I am very humbled amongst the presence of those part of the Varden," said Eragon remembering how humbled he felt with Weldon in the last twenty years. He straightened feeling Vrangr's comforting presence against his back. "Now, what is it that you wanted to speak to me of?"

"I was told that you were the one to suggest that I take up the post as the new leader of the Varden," said Deynor, this time the person who felt humbled. Eragon nodded.

"I can see your potential as clear as day," said Eragon seeing no need to lie to Deynor. "As long as you can apply it correctly, you will be fine." His expression grew serious. "Do not think of me as condescending when I say this to you, Deynor but if there was one advice that I could impart with you today it would be this: you cannot appease everyone," he paused gathering his thoughts before he continued. "You have to understand Deynor that no longer shall you merely be speaking to warriors who understand the way of the blade but rather to wives, mothers, children, and those who merely sought the Varden to escape Galbatorix. Not only that, but the dwarves will be watching from one view and the elves another. Whatever you do as the leader of the Varden, do not forget the audience that shall be watching and never think that it is your duty to satisfy all."

"I have still much to learn," murmured Deynor as he lowered his head letting Eragon's words travel his mind.

"Do not worry," Eragon reassured him. "You shall have friends to help you along the way."

"It would be an honor to count you amongst my friends," Deynor said solemnly. For one so young, he had a rather upright and noble attitude thought Eragon impressed. He nodded and with a clap of his hand on Deynor's shoulder turned and left. With the most important task done for the day he was left to find something to fill his time with as he usually did.

Arya was no doubt busy compiling a report for her father for next she returned to Ellesméra and he did not want to bother her. After their walk together yesterday, he had taken up enough of her time. If there was one thing that Eragon despised, it was becoming a burden to those he cared about. Unsure of what to do, he eventually found himself sitting on a stone stump in the stone forest of Farthen Dûr.

_How odd…trees turned to stone..._

Gazing at the stone trees, he took in a deep breath. It was an odd feeling thought Eragon in hindsight. A forest that was turned to stone over time…forever laying beneath the Beor Mountains. Time here was stagnant. It passed but nothing changed. Sitting there, he was content to merely stare at the stone surrounding as his thoughts took the better of him. He wanted to mourn. But for what? He wasn't even sure himself.

"For some reason, I'm not surprised to find you here."

He didn't even have the heart to form a retort to Elvina's words. He glanced up momentarily to find her standing beside him a dark cloak drawn about her shoulders. Her hair was elegantly done into a plait that curled about her neck giving her a rather warm look but her piercing blue eyes spoke otherwise.

When he made no motion to respond to her, Elvina settled herself beside him. She must have sensed the mood he was in for she did not make her usual sarcastic or biting remarks. There were no insults about his rudeness nor any baiting comments that was said to get a rise out of him. For one strange moment, he thought she was giving him silent comfort. _But why would she? _He did away with the thought as soon as it entered his mind.

Perhaps Elvina had changed in that one short moment that they had shared in the cave when she had saved him. What was it that was bothering him so much in regards to Elvina? Now that he thought about it, she had never been threatening nor dangerous but each encounter with her always left him cautious and alert. Was he being overly paranoid? Maybe Elvina was not as horrid as he considered her to be.

"Are you feeling ill?" asked Elvina after a long moment of prolonged silence. Eragon inwardly sighed. To think that he was trying to see her in a better light. After a long moment, he shook his head. "Your lack of response is rather unnerving."

"I am not in the mood to jest," said Eragon snapping slightly. Why did it always seem that Elvina wanted a cause to spark his anger?

"There was no need to reply like so," said Elvina coolly her blue eyes observing him.

Sighing, he brought his hand up to his face to pinch the bridge of his nose. The last few days had not been pleasant for him. His mind and heart felt like it was being torn every which way with no sense of direction. After a long moment, he turned shook his head taking in a deep breath. "I apologize," said Eragon unable to look at Elvina in the eyes. "I am not feeling myself lately."

"Clearly," murmured Elvina, she remained quiet as if she was struggling hard for words—as if she did not know how to comfort another person. After a long moment, she spoke. "What is it that is bothering if you do not mind my asking?"

His eyes darted to rest on her for a moment as he thought of her question. Her tone was not patronizing as he thought it would be but instead she sounded genuinely concerned for him. He stared at her for a moment watching as her fair skin took on a slightly flushed appearance but her eyes did not waver as they held his.

He turned away from Elvina after a moment not wanting her to feel uncomfortable by his piercing gaze. When she did not leave but let her question settle between them, he closed his eyes. There was no one for him to confide in. Angela understood where he was from but she was too eccentric, to abnormal and bubbly to understand what it was that he felt, and everyone else was under the impression that he was Eragon, the elf that was strong and intelligent, always willing and ready. No one understood him truly. Not even Arya no matter how much he wished she did. There was no Saphira here for him to turn to when he needed to lay out his heart's hurts for her to heal. There was no Arya who would turn away from her duties so that she could comfort him when he needed it.

"Have you ever thought about what it is that you are doing with your life?" asked Eragon quietly.

"Often enough," Elvina responded, her voice just as gentle. "Are you not satisfied with life?"

"When is one ever satisfied with what they have?" questioned Eragon rhetorically. He frowned as he surveyed the stone trees unsure of where to start—of what to say. How could Elvina even begin to understand what it was that he was going through? His entire life here was a lie. What others saw him out to be was a lie, an imperfect perfection created so that he could live through history and try to salvage Alagaësia from the remnants of war that would soon sweep across its lands. After a long moment, he spoke again. "Do you have any regrets, Elvina?"

"Regrets?" she repeated quietly, her blue eyes taking on an odd shine.

Eragon nodded. "I regret," he said quietly. "There are too many regrets that I have in my life, regrets and unfulfilled promises."

"I am a vain person, Eragon," said Elvina, he fought the urge to snort at her words. If he did she would only vehemently respond and his attempts at trying to speak about his feelings would be at a loss. Instead he waited for her to speak. "I always think about myself and in the process I suppose I've lost sight of who I was and what I was becoming. When I look back on my life I wonder where it was that I had changed. I certainly was not born this way and yet here I am. And then I met you."

He tensed, his head turning to hers as she spoke and he blinked when he saw that Elvina was smiling at him, not in her belittling manner or her mocking way but a genuine smile that surprised him. He raised a brow. Ever since they had met and Elvina had taken up to chasing after her interests with him, the two of them ended up in either arguments, circular banters, or just icy remarks. Nowhere did he see where their interactions would be touching to Elvina.

"You were always so giving even though you have an overly rude nature, tend to do everything by yourself, and you always hold a rather demeaning aura about you," said Elvina, a smirk forming her face. He inwardly scoffed. It was too much to ask for a nice compliment from the woman it seemed. Apparently for every piece of praise that Elvina awarded, she had to balance it with a thousand insults. "You never asked for anything and even though you hate to wake early in the morning and doing what you do, you still go about carrying out your tasks. Someone like you can be anywhere he wanted to be, can do anything he wished…and yet, you are here…Why is that?"

"Rather here than living underneath Galbatorix," said Eragon with a dark expression. She nodded in understanding and for a moment she appeared hesitant as if something about the topic of Galbatorix troubled her but she did not say anything more.

"Seeing you work endlessly…well, it makes me think that perhaps my life wasn't really what I thought it out to be," murmured Elvina, studying her fingers which were rather clean and rounded, the nail beds gleaming as if she had used oil to polish the surface. He blinked. There was something at her fingernails that seemed oddly familiar to him. Unable to place it he lifted his eyes to her feeling the need to say something to her after she had spoken her feelings to him honestly for the first time.

"Looking back on my own life," murmured Eragon quietly, "I sometimes feel as if I am not really there. Who is this person called Eragon? Who am I? Am I merely a part of the Varden? Or perhaps more? You say that I am a great mystery to you but oftentimes I wonder if I even know myself. Or if I understand who it is that I am becoming." He wanted to say more but found himself unable to. The words he was searching for didn't come to him and instead he fell quiet, turning his head so that he could stare out at the stone forest. _My indecisiveness no doubt amuses her, _thought Eragon as he clenched his hands together, breathing deeply.

He sat there silently waiting for her to pass her judgment. He waited for her mocking voice to speak and laugh at him or for her to snort at his words. She did neither. Instead, he felt a shock ripple through his body when he felt a small and lightly cold hand touch his clenched ones, tugging his fingers apart until the hand could slid in between his, curling about his own to hold. Almost immediately he wanted to tear his hands from her. It felt wrong and his body ached for hands that were small and warm—hands that belonged to Arya.

Her hand tightened around his and he was forced to look at her. She shifted closer to him and her breath caressed his face as she spoke, her expression filled with some sort of emotion that he had never seen on her face before. "Seeing you so indecisive is unbecoming," murmured Elvina, her blue eyes dark and piercing as she held his gaze.

He wanted to rip himself free but the grip that Elvina held his hands in made him freeze and her expression held him in place. Despite their closeness, his heart did not stutter, his brain was not addled, and his skin did not warm. Only Arya had been able to extract those types of reactions from him. No one else, not even someone as beautiful as Elvina. He took a tentative breath and instantly, Elvina's scent—spicy and yet soothing, like the smell of cinnamon washed over his senses.

"You are more attractive when you are sure of yourself," murmured Elvina. He felt her nose slide against his and suddenly Vrangr felt hot on his back and his heart clenched painfully, an image of Arya flashing in his mind. Collecting himself, he fought to gather his senses.

"I will take stock in what you say," said Eragon dryly as he turned away from Elvina watching as a deep flash of hurt crossed her face before it was gone and her cool and indifferent expression had returned. A moment passed between them and after another squeeze of his hand, she withdrew her own. He wanted to apologize to her and tell her that his heart belonged elsewhere and that it would forever remain loyal to one person alone. But he couldn't bring himself to do so least Elvina would know his true feelings.

All he could say were two words and they left his lips sincere and grateful, "Thank you, Elvina."

She did not say anything but merely nodded, a sharp motion of her head. In that one moment, he felt as if he understood Elvina a little more and perhaps she understand him just as well. The thought came to him a little later as they sat there in comfortable silence but he had found a friend in Elvina just as she had found one in him.

But the burdens that he carried still weighed heavily on his shoulders and they pressed down on him as he sat there taking in the stone trees and never changing scenery as time passed the both of them by.

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**Well, then Deynor is the next leader as he was in canon. I didn't want to miss a chance to explore Deynor's character so I kept to him. In any case, the bigger problem to contend with is Elvina. Her character would be understood soon enough I suppose. Since Eragon and Arya are bonding really well, we can't have Elvina losing to Arya can we? Hehehe...What will happen next? In any case, I'm just trying to explore every opportunity possible. Also, my backpacking trip starts after my research is finished so not for some time now. I'll give you all a heads up. In any case, I hope to see you all soon! And remember, message me if you see any typos! **


	25. Chapter 25

**Been too tired lately for some reason and I keep getting these migraines that knock me out for hours on end. So as a result I wasn't really feeling up to writing but then I felt better today so I thought I would crank something out. So when you are reading this chapter be aware that there is a decade jump here. I'm just moving things along so hopefully it doesn't seem too chaotic. In any case, have fun reading everyone. R&R. **

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"Arya," Gasping slightly at the pain in his right leg, he crawled forward towards her location. Above them, he could hear several loud roars. There was another explosion that threw him against the ground. In the midst of the debris, he launched forward letting the dirt and rocks rain down on him. Because the terrain was vast and out in the open, it made it all the harder for him to try and avoid any sort of direct conflict with the two Dragon Riders chasing them: Kialandí and Vinos.

Running forward, he caught sight of her hunched over on the ground clutching at her side. Despite her injury, her emerald green eyes were bright and they were ablaze with emotion. Dodging another swept from the air, he slid on the ground until he was on one knee beside Arya. She was injured from her fighting with Kialandí. Though Arya was strong, she had only been part of the Varden for twenty years and her strength could not match that of a Forsworn's.

"Let me see the wound, Arya," though he wanted to be tender with her, they were still a few miles away from the fringe of Du Weldenvarden and the possibility of lingering out in the open was not a choice for them. She winced slightly but shifted towards him, removing her hand to show him the gash in her left side which was bleeding profusely. He wanted to curse but leaned forward to further inspect it.

The flesh didn't seem that it was only pierced but there was something else to it. There was a slight purple tinge to her wound that made him cautious. He narrowed his eyes slightly to take in the wound, his vision becoming tinted red at the sight of Arya's blood flowing freely. "It will not heal," murmured Arya as she returned her hand to her side to stem the flow of blood.

_Poison. _

Without another moment's hesitation, he ripped off his cloak from his shoulder before moving to wrap it about her waist careful to not put a great deal of pressure on her side but enough to keep the blood at bay. "Head to Du Weldenvarden," Eragon ordered her. He saw a flash of protest in her eyes and knew that she was going to draw herself up to argue against him. But he pressed on. "You are injured Arya and you've been poisoned. If you keep fighting you will wear yourself down."

"And what about you?" asked Arya but he could tell that she was losing the will to argue against him because of her injury.

"Do not worry," his expression was determined. "I said that I would not die easily and I shall show you that I do not lie, Arya." Her emerald eyes seemed to flicker with hesitation, Eragon blinked when he heard Vinos' taunting voice from above. He turned back to Arya, gripping her upper arms. "Trust me, Arya."

Still holding her side, she nodded moving to her feet. "I'll be waiting for you."

For some unknown reason, her words touched him like a caress on his soul. He could only stare at her as she retreated towards Du Weldenvarden, her words ringing in his ears. She would be waiting for him. It almost sounded what one would say to a mate or a husband. Watching as her form began to grow smaller in his line of sight, he shook himself turning back to the task at hand. Vinos and Kialandí had ambushed them while they were making their way to Du Weldenvarden. How they knew he did not know but he knew for a fact that there wasn't a single spy in the midst of the Varden unless he had overlooked someone.

"I will make certain that you die today you meddlesome fool," he jumped back as Kialandí easily flipped himself over his purple dragon, falling ten meters through the air before landing lightly on the balls of his feet his sword drawn. He stared at the elf, noticing the red blood stains on his sword. Rage immediately overtook him. Coating the purple blade was Arya's blood.

Unsheathing Vrangr and Brisingr, he lifted his head to send Kialandí a frown. "What is it now? I had thought with the death of two of your companions at Brom's doing you would have learned your lesson."

Three years ago, two of the Forsworn both humans by the name of Dynet and Cerci were killed by Brom and his planning. He had used the power struggle between the Forsworn for his own ends and had taken care of the two of them. Now only seven of the thirteen remained. Their numbers were beginning to die out.

"There is nothing for me to fear from a Rider without a dragon," said Kialandí with a scoff. His eyes narrowed as he took in Eragon by himself. "I see it that your companion has left you. Do you believe yourself capable of defeating one such as me?"

"I did once," said Eragon bringing up the time when he had caused Kialandí to become impaled on his dragon once more years earlier. He tightened his grip on Brisingr. "And I have no doubt that Galbatorix was displeased with you and your failures Kialandí."

"Which is why I am bringing him your body as an apology," Kialandí raised his hand and shouted causing a shower of violet sparks to rain down on him. When one collided with his arm, Eragon winced. His skin burned and a raw red scorch mark appeared. Knowing that it wouldn't bode well for him to stay on the ground, Eragon started forward.

He didn't head for Kialandí but rather for his dragon.

The purple dragon remained on the ground intently watching them in case Kialandí needed his help. Having overlooked their dragons in his earlier encounters with them, he'd decided that it was a time to change tactics. If the dragons were going to be a part of their battles, than it would make everything significantly easier if he used their dragons against them.

As he neared the purple dragon, the creature bellowed at him trying to bathe him in a river of orange flames tinged violet. Ducking, he felt a sense of satisfaction when he saw Kialandí receive the torrent of flames instead. Had it not been for his wards, the elf would have been burnt to ashes.

"Kialandí!" Vinos shouted from above them. "I shall go see if I can find his elf companion." There were two loud claps as well as a torrent of air bearing down on them before Vinos and his dragon flew off towards the direction of Du Weldenvarden. Trusting that Arya would be able to take care of herself and escape within the forest of her people, he turned his attention back to Kialandí, shuffling about as to avoid being stomped to death by his dragon.

_Come on, _thought Eragon as he shifted and shuffled about the purple dragon trying his best to remain beneath it. Just as he thought he would, Kialandí shifted forward on his feet and lunged for Eragon easily covering the yards between them. Knowing that what he was going to do was necessary, Eragon took in a deep breath before slashing Vrangr to his side, cutting a deep gash into the purple dragon.

A large drop of red blood fell to the grass followed by two loud roars, one louder than the other. While the purple dragon roared in pain, Kialandí was blindsided with anger. Allowing the violet Rider's sword to slide past him, he turned and slammed his elbow down into the crook of his arm. Without breaking in motion, he brought up the pommel of Vrangr and slammed it into Kialandí's chest once, twice, three times until he heard several ribs crack.

He heard a roar behind him followed by the sound of something heavy whipping through the air. Still keeping his grip on Kialandí, he ducked. He'd learned after several years not to solely focus his attentions on only the Rider but also on the dragon as well seeing as it could be a dangerous opponent on the battle field.

"I see Galbatorix has decided that you are no longer worthy of his Eldunarí," said Eragon as he straightened blocking a swipe to the side. He threw the violet sword off and kneed Kialandí in the stomach, turning in time to swipe at his violet dragon's underbelly.

It let forth a rumbling roar of pain that ended on a whimper as it began to stumble, bleeding from its most sensitive area. A hand came out and slammed into his face causing his head to turn to the side abruptly. Blinking, he turned to avoid another enraged attack as Kialandí snarled at him.

"I will kill you!" Kialandí swore.

"Not if I kill your first," and with that, he slammed his head against the elf's watching as he stumbled. When he raised his arm, Eragon brought up Brisingr and sliced his arm off from the elbow watching as the limb fell to the ground still clutching the violet sword. Howling in pain, Kialandí stumbled and his dragon angered made to snap at Eragon but he easily dodge slicing the violet dragon in the jaw.

Clutching at his stump of an arm, Kialandí glared at him his face rapidly becoming white and pasty. "Even if you kill me, you cannot escape," he said, breathing heavily with blood spilling from his lips. "Galbatorix will never let one who knows his secrets go freely. You will be hunted for the rest of your life whether it is tomorrow, the day next, weeks, or years. You cannot escape us."

"I do not plan to," said Eragon as he flourished Brisingr. He stared down at the elf who had fallen to his knees unable to continue standing. "It will make my deeds all the more easier if fools like you come running to me."

"So confident…" Kialandí scoffed weakly. "I suppose this is vengeance."

"It has been long overdue," said Eragon as he held Brisingr before Kialandí. Then without another word, he stabbed the elf right through his heart watching as he went slump on the blue blade of Brisingr. Pulling back, he jumped back flipping onto his feet as he dragon let out a torrent of flames, angered and full of sorrow.

Bending his knees, he stared at the enraged creature watching is it bled out from three different areas on its body. "Sorry," muttered Eragon as he launched forward. Running in a random, zigzag pattern he easily dodged swipes of claws and tails and then when he was within the last few yards, he jumped up. Sheathing Vrangr in one fluid motion, he turned and circling through the air stabbed the dragon directly in its skull. There was a sickening crunch as Brisingr went through flesh and bone alike before stopping at the hilt, the blade buried deep with the dragon's head.

The violet dragon let out a bellowing roar of utter pain, thrashing violently before laying still, slumping to the ground. Breathing heavily, he glanced at the blood that freely flowed from the wound that he inflicted upon the dragon before drawing Brisingr out. There was a wet squelch and a fine spray of blood coated his front torso and arms, burning as it landed on his skin.

Jumping onto the ground, he took a moment to look at the fallen dragon and then Kialandí who laid a few feet away, his right arm missing from the elbow down. He took a moment to study the elf whose eyes were open and devoid of life. He had not killed him years earlier when he had impaled him on the spikes of his purple dragon but he did now.

"That was for Oromis," said Eragon as he walked over to the fallen arm. Nudging the limb away, he bent down as he sheathed Brisingr to grip the violet sword. Staring at the glyph on the blade, he frowned. _Andlát._

Death.

_What a fitting name for a sword of a Forsworn_, thought Eragon grimly as he stared at the blood that stained the blade. It was Arya's blood. Careful not to touch the edge since the blade was coated in poison from what he had learned from Arya's wound, he bent down to retrieve the scabbard from Kialandí to sheathe the blade.

He was about to leave when something caught his eye. Protruding from the inside of Kialandí's tunic was a neatly folded missive. Reaching down to take it in hand, he stared at it for a moment before a faint roar off in the distance caught his attention. _Arya! _

Tucking the missive away, he hurried in the direction of the sound. Had she safely made it inside the fringe of Du Weldenvarden? Though the fringe was relatively much weaker than the inner sanctum of the forest, he could only hope that the Forsworn was tentative about harming the forest due to the fact that the elves resided within the domain of the lush trees.

Careful not to put too much weight onto his right leg in which the pain was now burning with a vengeance, he hurried forward. Arya's magic had been trying to heal the wound but it was rather deep with some muscle torn. He would have to heal it himself once he found Arya.

Not breaking in stride, he glanced up to find Vinos and his dragon turning away from Du Weldenvarden. Not bothering to chase them since he had already dealt with one Forsworn for the day, he continued forward. In any case, when Vinos saw that Kialandí was dead either he would show some gratitude to Eragon for laying waste to an opponent for Galbatorix's favors or avenge his comrade. Eragon had no doubt that it would be the former. Staring at their shrinking form in the sky as they headed west, he continued to push himself until he reached the fringe of Du Weldenvarden. It seemed as if Vinos was too cowardly to dare and attack the forest.

"Arya?"

There was no reply. Inwardly cursing to himself, he neared the young pines trying to find a clue as to where Arya was. _What if she'd succumbed to the poison? _Fear, chilling and rapid ran through him at the thought of her lying helpless on the ground without an antidote or a way to heal her wound. Turning on the spot, his eyes searching he blinked when he caught sight of a small drop of crimson on the grass. Hurrying to it, Eragon blinked taking in the rather faint trail of blood that led into the forest.

"Arya…" her name left him in a strangled breath. Not having time to think of anything else, he hurried in the direction of the trail. Brushing branch after branch from his way, and jumping over root after root, he continued to run wondering how far Arya had managed to get despite being injured. Hurrying past a young pine tree, he would have continued had he not caught sight of a doe so far away from its bed. Pausing for a moment, Eragon blinked turning his head.

There on the forest ground was Arya. She was curled in on herself, her skin extremely pale and sweat forming on her face. From where he stood away from her, he could hear her shallow breaths. The doe was bent over her, sensing that she was not a danger and seemed to offer her company. Approaching, Eragon said to the doe, "_Eitha." _

Turning its head to stare at him, the doe lingered for a moment before heeding his command. Turning, it gracefully bounded away deeper into the forest.

Placing Andlát on the ground, he reached down to take Arya's arm, "Arya," trying to lift her up, he paused when her brow knitted to show her discomfort. Hating that he was hurting her, he took in a deep breath and spoke to her in a low, reassuring voice. "Arya, let me see the wound."

Her eyelids fluttered opened and she turned her head towards him showing him clearly how much pain she was in. If he hadn't already killed Kialandí he would not mind disemboweling him for what he did to Arya. Despite her obvious pain, there was a hint of relief in her expression at the sight of him well and relatively whole apart from his injured right leg which was wrapped in vein-like tendrils of green magic.

"You came," said Arya softly as she stretched her body out so that he could unwrap his cloak from her. He blinked at the red blood that stained his hand and felt his heart freeze at how unnaturally pale she was. Was this the same poison that Ra'zac used? Was this Seithr oil?

He removed her hand which seemed to clutch instinctively at her wound. It was stained red and unable to bring himself to let go, he clutched her hand in his hoping that his hand did not shake. "Like I promised I did," said Eragon as he shifted the torn part of her leather top to the side to show him her wound in greater detail.

If anything her wound had gotten worst. The poison seemed to have seeped into her body and was no doubt running through her veins. His expression must have been something for Arya blinked up at him, her lips twitching slightly. "This is the first time I've seen you so…responsive."

"Responsive?" he reached for his cloak trying to find a part of it that was not soaked through with her blood. The upper half was still dry. With ease, he ripped it cleanly into strips before turning his attention back to Arya.

"Perhaps responsive is not the correct word," she agreed watching as he began to dig a small hole in the ground.

He nodded glancing at her before turning his eyes back onto the hole he had dug with his fingers. It appeared to be a decent size. "_Reisa du adurna," _instantly, the small hole in the ground began to fill with water. He turned back to Arya, still holding one of her small hands in his, "This will sting Arya but only for a little while. I am no healer but I need to see if I can clean the wound if only slightly."

He grabbed a strip of what used to be his cloak and soaked it in the cool water. Then pausing slightly, he took in a deep breath and pressed the cloth to her wound. Instantly he saw her flinch and her muscles jerk slightly. Then with great care, he began to gently clean her wound trying to draw away some of the poison that was still clinging to the open flesh. Her lips were pursed, brows knitted, and her hand clamped his but otherwise she did not vocalize her hurt which made him rather proud.

"I will carry you to Ília Fëon, Arya," he said as he wrapped the remaining strips of cloth over her wound once more. "It is not far from here and there are expert healers who can address your wound much better than I."

She nodded her eyes closing as a short breath left her. Taking Andlát in one hand, he bent down slid that arm underneath her knees before with his other slipped it underneath her back. Then as gently as he could, he lifted her up standing as he did so. "If I jostle you I will like to apologize in advance," murmured Eragon glancing down at her in his arms. She nodded once more but did not say anymore.

Aligning himself in the northern direction, he took one step forward before breaking out into a run. Careful of roots, he made sure to jump over them whenever they littered the ground before him so that he would not trip with Arya in his arms. And whenever branches were low enough that they covered his way, he merely tucked Arya in his arms and turned to his side running through the branches so that they scraped at his arms and back but never at his front where he cradled Arya.

All the while as he ran, Arya did not show many signs of discomfort except for a gasp when he landed particularly hard on his feet after sailing over ten feet of thick roots to which he instantly apologized for. As he ran, he tried to comfort Arya. Eragon had never been rather apt at comforting others apart from those close to him. He knew how to comfort Saphira because he understood her. The same held for Arya only his way of comforting Arya usually differed greatly from how he would comfort Saphira. Most of the time, he could give her physical comfort through their bond.

Instead, he tried to talk to her and find a means to comfort her in this way. Useless babble just seemed to tumble from his lips as he tried to think of a way to ease Arya's pain even if he couldn't do so physically. If he could perhaps distract her from it maybe that would be better. But the more he talked, the more he sounded rather pathetic to his own ears and he had a fleeting thought of Angela laughing at him and his attempt to reach out and comfort another person.

Surprisingly Arya did not seem to mind his mindless one-sided conversation. His words and pointless stories had filled the silence and fifteen minutes later when he found himself standing in the city of Ília Fëon he found himself slightly out of breath at his constant talking and running.

"What has happened?" an elf maiden ran towards him, her expression one of alarm as she took in Arya who was pale and shivering slightly in his arms. Her eyes darted to Arya and then her expression grew even more alarmed. "Arya Dröttningu!"

"We were ambushed traveling to Du Weldenvarden," said Eragon as more elves swarmed to their location to see their injured princess, their expressions one of pure rage. "Arya was injured and poisoned. She needs medical attention."

"Give her to us," one of the female elves held her arms out for Arya. He did so but the moment he placed Arya in her arms, a weak hand gripped his wrist as if to tug him with her. He glanced down at Arya and smiled at her reassuringly.

"You are in good hands Arya," said Eragon as he reached down to remove her hand. "I will be waiting for you this time it seems." He squeezed her hand gently as he released it. Then without wasting another moment, Arya was carried away the elves following her. He could tell from their hurried movements that they were in a panic after seeing their princess in such a weak state. No doubt a report was going to be sent to Evandar soon. He inwardly sighed. He had promised to watch after Arya for Evandar and yet she was injured because she was traveling with him.

His Arya had never been attacked directly by the Forsworn. But because he existed in this timeline, his actions also affected Arya because of her friendship with him. Had she not been with him, she would have never been attacked in the first place. _I suppose my presence does hold great weight in this history, _thought Eragon as he found a log out of the way to sit down on. As he did so, he turned to the injury on his right leg. There was a gash in his calve and blood trickled from it but not enough to be life threatening.

Reaching down, he touched his right calve with his right hand. "_Waíse heil." _

The skin seemed to glow for a moment with sapphire magic before coming together. When the light of his magic faded, he turned to glance at the newly healed skin. The pain from earlier was gone to be replaced with a cool feeling of intense relief. Taking this moment to catch his breath, he was about to get up and head in the direction where Arya was carried off to before he felt the missive from earlier in his pocket.

Pulling it out, he stared at the folded parchment. Curious, he opened it to find himself staring at elegant lines that composed the glyphs of the ancient language.

_Kialandí, _

_Do not presume to order me about as you wish. If my memory serves me correct, you are the only fool amongst us. There is the blindsided Darius who is only out to seek blood but you are the only one of us that has managed to fail Galbatorix. Therefore I do not see where it is that you have such brazen audacity to order me to tell you what I have been pursuing these past years. You enjoy your time hoarding wealth and power and no one is the wiser to tell you the many more useful applications you can apply yourself to. _

_Even Enduriel has more intelligence to not question another when he is clearly the most permissive out of the thirteen of us. Perhaps you should visit his estate and learn a thing or two from him. In any case, I have no reason to divulge to you what I have been doing all these years. Galbatorix does not question me and neither should you. Or rather, you do not have the authority to do so. However, since you have been becoming a thorn in my side as of late then I shall tell you one thing. _

_I find it more enjoyable to play games not with wealth nor power but rather with appearances. You would be surprised with how much I have learned. Had you not been wasting away on your estate you would find for yourself how vast Alagaësia is. _

_With that said, I hope this letter finds you well or in ill health. I do not care. Let one message be clear to you, Kialandí. Do not bother me again. I shall not be as forgiving next. As long as Galbatorix does not question me or my loyalty then there is nothing for someone like you to worry over. Let us part on this one piece of advice, hoarding too many pleasures of life will leave you with nothing in the end. _

_ Formora _

He stared at the missive in slight surprise. Though he knew of the history behind Formora and Kialandí and how they had tricked and betrayed Oromis, he did not think that Formora would be so venomous to her fellow Forsworn. Blinking at the missive, he reread it again. The tone of the letter struck a chord of remembrance within him. Formora was sarcastic, condescending, and mocking.

Strangely she reminded him of Elvina.

Rereading the missive once more he mind kept repeating the last paragraph. What was it that Formora meant about playing with appearances? What appearances? Trying to contemplate the vague missive, he sighed. Now was not the time to worry over a letter of correspondence between the Forsworn. He had to worry about Arya's wellbeing. Standing up from the log, he made his way in the direction where Arya was carried off with Andlát clutched tightly in his hands.

It did not take long for him to find the house sung from tree where Arya was being treated. One of the guards told him that he had to wait until Arya was healed and well enough to have visitors to which he accepted. She was the princess after all. Instead, he merely leaned against a tree waiting to hear news of Arya's condition.

Soon enough night fell and the flameless lanterns were the main source of light but Eragon refused to sleep until he knew for certain that Arya was on the road to recovery. He waited through the night and most of the morning. It wasn't until the crack of dawn did the elf woman who had taken Arya from him earlier appeared from the house. Straightening and unfolding his arms, he made his way to her.

"How is she?" asked Eragon the moment he stopped before the elf.

"She is healing. We gave her the antidote for the poison and healed her wound," she answered before thanking him softly. "You have done us a great deed today by saving Arya Dröttningu."

"May I see her?" asked Eragon hoping that she would not deny him. The elf woman thought for a moment before she nodded. She turned to the guards saying softly to them that Eragon was a permissible visitor. Thanking her, he pushed the door to the house open, closing it softly behind him.

It was two stories with the lower story comprised of a kitchen and a living room. Ascending the spiral wooden staircase, he pushed the wooden door open at the top and emerged into a spacious bedroom. Letting the door close behind him, he took in the circular bedroom, his eyes falling on the bed and the figure lying on it.

As quiet as he could, he made his way over to her bedside to look down at her figure. She was regaining color in her skin. Instantly of the pale white, it was returning to its normal honeyed appearance. Her expression was placid and unfettered and she looked truly at peace. Shifting on his feet slightly, he glanced at the space beside her wishing he could just crawl onto the bed and fall asleep with her lithe body cradled by his side.

That was a privilege from another lifetime.

"How odd," murmured Eragon as he stared down at Arya's sleeping form. "Twenty years has passed us by so quickly since you've joined the Varden." _In thirty more years, would Fäolin have the courage to join you in your travels, Arya? _He dared not say that aloud for he did not want anyone questioning his sudden train of thoughts.

Glancing at Arya once more, he reached down hesitantly and brushed a strand of her hair from her face, his hand gently curving about her cheek. Feeling her warm skin against him put him at ease. _She was going to be fine, _thought Eragon relieved. Holding his hand there for a moment, he gently rubbed the pad of his thumb across her high cheekbone.

"I will be waiting for you, Arya," murmured Eragon watching the steady rise and fall of her chest. The healers must have given her a potion to induce her into such a deep sleep. Normally Arya was a very light sleeper. "But when will you come for me I wonder?"

Staring at her for a moment longer, he retracted his hand and pulled up a chair to sit alongside her bedside. There was nothing he could do but watch her.

And that was all he did, all he had been doing, and perhaps all he will be doing when it came to Arya for he could not act on his feeling not when he led such a false life. Not when there were so many questions that he still needed the answers to.

_Until then, I'm not worthy. _

Leaning back in his seat, he sighed softly as he watched Arya dutifully remaining by her side.

* * *

**Just an ExA moment. Seeing how Arya has been lonely in her seventy years of travel originally, I just wanted to emphasize the importance of Eragon's presence to her without showing it in her POV (which I'm still deciding on). This is just one of those moments that have been changed due to Eragon coming back in time. In any case, I feel like there is so little ExA to spare here for some reason, or is it just me? I'll try to update quicker but if I get sick again or end up napping ridiculous hours because of migraines, I'll like to apologize before hand. Thanks for reading! I hope to see you all soon! **

**P.S. If there are any errors please feel free to PM me and I shall go back and fix them! Thank you! **


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